Nobody's Victim
by Carlough
Summary: Breakdown reads a book on abuse and starts to wonder if he has been mistreated. After a violent beating, he runs away from the Decepticon base to start a new life. The only problem is, he didn't expect his brothers to actually be hurt by his departure.
1. Abused

**Okay, I know I have a lot of things being written right now, but this bunny wouldn't leave me alone. This should be short, only a handful of chapters that will be posted close together. I know I read a story like this before somewhere; if I recall correctly, it was about Starscream seeing something on television about abuse and telling Megatron that he'd had enough. If anyone knows this story, I would love to know the name so I could give the author their dues, because that story partially inspired this fic, along with the song "Crying Out" by Shinedown, weird as that is, so a clip of their lyrics will be in each chapter; I'm planning on three.**

**Now, why Breakdown, you may ask? Because I love the Stunticons and everybody always has Motormaster beating on them all, so I decided to play off of that. Breakdown's paranoia just made things easier. I would have chosen Dead End, but he wouldn't care as much about being beaten, because they were just helping him get to the end of his life by doing so.**

**Also, like all of my TF fics, this is in my own AU mix of G1 and '07 'verse. If you are unfamiliar with this, that means that all gestalts were formed pre-Earth, RotF never happened (Megatron is back by some unspoken twist of fate), and everyone came to Earth when I chose (they're all already on Earth though here, so that doesn't matter), and the Decepticon base is not underwater, just to make my life that bit easier.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here. The lyrics to "Crying Out" belong to Shinedown. And the book that Breakdown reads? Yeah, that's mine too. As in, all excerpts from it are written by yours truly. 'Tis mine!**

* * *

"_**Don't use a weakness, don't change the subject**_

_**Don't ask the questions if you fear the answer**_

_**You look distorted, let's make you clearer**_

_**Let's flip the switch and use the smoke and mirrors**_

_**Reinvent yourself today**_

_**Reinvent your world today**_

_**Cryin' out for the last time**_

_**Clear a space for the warning signs**_

_**Cryin' out for the last time**_

_**And there's no turning back**_

_**Now that you've opened up to your mind"**_

_~ "Crying Out" - Shinedown_

"You slagging glitch!"

Kick.

"This is all your fault!"

Didn't he know it.

Thrown into a wall.

"You useless, pathetic, miserable coward!"

Yes, yes, he's quite aware, but thanks for the reminder.

Forearm torn off.

"Do you understand how you made us all look in front of Megatron, in front of the Decepticons, in front of the Pit-slagged Autoscum?"

No, pray tell! It wasn't like Megatron hadn't already gone through this spiel earlier when he had been the one beating him. Of course, that was after he had already beaten himself up. But please, do continue.

Punch to the faceplates; left optic shattered, right one cracked.

"I should just deactivate you now!"

_Sometimes, I wish you would_... But no, he wasn't even worthy of death. That was too kind for him. No, he deserved all of the pain. He had messed up, after all.

Direct shot to the spark. Stasis lock initiating in five, four, three...

"I swear to Primus, we all would have been better off if you had never been created."

He wished he hadn't been. He wished he wasn't such a burden on his faction, on his brothers, always messing up, always freezing up, never getting the job done. That was him. Useless and deserving of everything he received.

...Two, one. Stasis lock initiated.

_"Nobody wants you here, Breakdown."_

Breakdown onlined where he had gone into stasis lock, lying on the floor of the Stunticons' common room. His self-repair systems had done what they could, which was only so much. They had healed him enough, though, that he could make it to the medbay. But he didn't get up immediately.

As always, he contemplated what would happen if he just stayed here on the floor, unmoving. Would he die eventually? Probably, but one of his brothers would come through before that in all likelihood, and then he would get another beating on top of the two he already had in the last orn.

_It's not like I don't deserve it, though..._

With a soft groan the Stunticon sat up and quickly checked for any signs of his brothers. Finding none, he forced his protesting joints to creak to a stand. Grabbing his severed forearm, the partially blinded mech made the trip to the _Nemesis_' medbay in constant fear of being caught. Thank Primus it was night on Earth, and most Decepticons had turned in. Still, he kept his helm down and moved as quickly as his broken chassis would allow. It wouldn't do for his brothers to see him now.

He always avoided them, after a beating, for at least three days, if not longer. Sometimes he stayed away for up to a week, recharging in hallways or storage closets, sometimes even outside the ship, in his effort to keep away from his gestalt while they cooled down. Even though Motormaster was the one who doled out punishment, after the initial beating the others were occasionally inclined to join in if they saw him with his latest transgression still fresh in their processors.

So he stayed away. It wasn't like they cared. They all hated him, and with good reason. He was a disgrace to his gestalt and to his faction. He should never have been created, like Motormaster had told him. The gestalt leader was always right, after all.

Finally, _finally_ he made it to the medbay. The lights had been dimmed, and for a moment, he wondered if his whole trip had been in vain and the medbay was empty. But then he saw Hook, slumped over a desk in the corner, obviously in recharge. Breakdown really didn't want to wake him up, didn't want to upset him too. He turned to leave, but the crushed pede he had been dragging behind him (this was courtesy of Megatron) scraped against the metal floor, producing a screeching sound loud enough to make the Stunticon wince and to rouse Hook from his recharge.

"Breakdown?" the Decepticon pseudo-medic asked groggily. When his optics onlined fully, he cursed colorfully to himself. "Primus kid, what did they do to you this time?"

"Nothing I didn't deserve," he mumbled. Hook always said things like this to him, like the injuries weren't Breakdown's own fault. Didn't he understand that Breakdown brought this pain on himself? He was only being beaten because of his own actions and uselessness. It was his fault, not Megatron's or his brothers'.

"My aft," the Constructicon replied bluntly, but he didn't say more on the subject, and Breakdown was thankful for it. Hook helped him to a berth and sat him down and grabbed his forearm from him, scowling at it before sitting it down at the end of the berth. "Can you even see anything?"

"Barely," he muttered. Hook swore again.

"I was wondering if you were even going to show up this time, after how long you took, but looking at you now I can understand the delay. Wait here, I'm going to get Scrapper."

Breakdown stayed where he was; it wasn't like he was going anywhere anytime soon. Hook always seemed to know when he would be showing up with injuries from a beating, and would often wait up for him. He never understood why, but he appreciated the help. After he had been repaired, it made it easier to lay low from his brothers. After these beatings, not only from Motormaster but from Megatron, his best bet was to grab some energon and leave for a while, maybe more than a week. Nobody would miss him anyway.

"Holy Primus." Breakdown turned towards the swear, but his single, cracked optic couldn't make out who it was. There were at least three mechs there, but Hook had only said he was getting Scrapper. Realization dawned on him as he saw that Scrapper and Hook were present, along with Bonecrusher. Why would he be there? Unless... Oh. He must have done something wrong again.

He looked down and averted his optics, the best he could do to calm their almost certain anger. But he could still feel their optics on him..._watching him..._

That had been his problem earlier. It had been his job to take out Autobots who got near Astrotrain so that the others could continue loading the shuttle with stolen energon. But he had, of course, failed in this endeavor, quite miserably so.

At least five Autobots had been making an approach on the shuttle, or more specifically, _on him._ And he really wasn't being paranoid that time. When Breakdown had started to aim at one of them, all of them turned at the exact same moment and just _stared_ at him. They didn't move, they didn't speak, they just _stared._

Breakdown had found himself frozen, unable to move at all as all he could do was watch the mechs _looking at him_ and pray to Primus that they would stop. His processor just couldn't handle it, them _watching him._ He knew, logically, that this was why the Autobots were doing it in the first place. Pit, they were even smiling and grinning smugly at each other! But even knowing this, he just couldn't move.

That's why it was his fault that the mission had failed. He had stopped guarding in his terror, and the Autobots were able to get at the others. The Decepticons barely got any energon from the raid, and it was all Breakdown's fault. So yes, he did deserve all of the beatings he received, because it was all his fault, anyway.

The Lamborghini whimpered softly in discomfort, preparing himself for the beating that was sure to come, all the while despising himself for being so weak. He didn't deserve to call himself a Decepticon.

"What happened to him?" asked a gruff voice that Breakdown could only guess belonged to Bonecrusher; he wouldn't know for sure, because he made a conscious effort to stay away from the more violent Decepticons, which basically meant everybody. But that didn't matter, because nobody would want to be his friend, anyway.

"Megatron, with Motormaster to top it off. Actually, I believe the latter did most of the damage." That was Hook speaking; he was sure, as only he had such a cultured voice.

Someone growled and Breakdown flinched, tensing for a blow. The growling stopped immediately. He heard Hook hiss, "Stop that, 'Crusher, he thinks you're going to hurt him." There was the sound of steps approaching, and then Hook's voice was coming from right next to his berth. "I'm sorry about Bonecrusher, when I went to retrieve Scrapper I ended up accidentally waking him as well, and he insisted on coming with us because he was 'bored.'"

Breakdown flinched again, thinking on what happened to him when Motormaster was "bored." Because when Motormaster was bored, he became violent, or at least more than usual, and that meant that he would be trolling for a punching bag, and Breakdown was just oh-so-convenient. Not to mention that he undoubtedly deserved it.

"Why would they do this?" inquired quietly the third voice, which must have been Scrapper.

"I messed up," the Lamborghini said, speaking so softly that he was almost impossible to hear. But he had learned not to speak too loudly, lest he anger somebody. Nobody wanted to talk to him, anyway.

Bonecrusher scoffed. "What, that thing at the raid today? Sorry to break it to ya, kid, but you couldn't have taken on five Autobots at once even if they had no optics. There were too many for you to have fought. It was bad planning, not you."

Breakdown was confused. Bonecrusher wasn't going to hurt him? No, he was talking the way Hook did. He obviously did not understand that it _was_ Breakdown's fault. Of course he warranted beatings; he was a failure.

He shook his helm, not bothering to online his single optic because it couldn't see well anyway. "But I still failed. I made my brothers and my faction look pathetic in front of others. I deserved what I got."

Somebody swore, but Breakdown couldn't tell who. He just felt Hook gently, much too gently for what he deserved, pushing him to lay down on the berth as he began to assess the damage to his forearm, trying to figure out the best route to take to reattach it.

"Do you really think that?" Scrapper had a weird tone to his voice, confusion and disgust rolled into one. Disgust; oh, Breakdown was no stranger to being the target of that particular sentiment.

"I know it."

Bonecrusher growled again, and he flinched once more. "How long?" he snarled. Breakdown was too busy preparing to be hit to answer, but it turned out he wasn't the one the question was being aimed at.

Hook said, "I've been repairing him at least since he came to Earth, but I suspect that the beatings began far before that."

Breakdown was more than confused now. Began? They had always been there, since he onlined. Pit, he was beaten up on his first vorn of activation! Primus, an orn old and already an epic screw-up. He said as much to the Constructicon trio.

There was silence in the medbay; even Hook stopped working to repair his forearm. Breakdown wondered if he had said something wrong again and should just leave. He moved to sit up, but Hook pressed him back against the berth. "You aren't going anywhere, not until I've finished repairing you."

Taking a chance, Breakdown said, "I don't understand why you're all so surprised. It's what's supposed to happen – the subordinate fails in their duties and their commanding officer punishes them for it."

The horrified silence was deafening; Scrapper spoke next, softly and slowly.

"That's...You really think that? That's what you've been taught? They told you that what they're doing is okay, is normal? Breakdown, when one of my gestalt misbehaves, they get an extra joor of work, or cleaning duty, or some of their privileges taken away, or if it's really bad, some brig time. But I don't beat them, I wouldn't even think of it."

"They're not really beating me. I don't get hurt any worse than when others get into fights."

Hook stopped in his repairs once more, and Breakdown could _feel_ his optics watching him. "Yes, you do. When Bonecrusher and Long Haul get into fights, they come back with a few dents and a couple of contusions. Even when Starscream gets slagged over by Megatron for one of his schemes, he still isn't hurt as badly as you are. What happens to you is not at all normal." As he spoke, the Lambo could feel someone else, Scrapper, he guessed, approaching his other side and beginning to repair his optics.

"But...but I deserve it. I never do anything right."

"Kid, if we all did everything right all the time we would be Autobots," Bonecrusher scoffed. "Even if you're wrong, you shouldn't be abused for it."

Breakdown's thoughts came to a halt. Abused? He wasn't being abused. He knew about abuse; he had seen a special on it on that human television that Skywarp and the cassette twins had been watching. A squishy femme had been talking to some other femme about some sort of literature she had written, titled _It's Not Your Fault_. The book was supposed to be a guide for victims of abuse on how to deal with their situation and get out of it. But Breakdown knew he wasn't being abused, because the people that book was intended for didn't deserve the beatings they got; he, on the other hand, did.

"I'm not being abused," he said.

Bonecrusher sharply released air from his vents in a snort. "Kid, if you aren't being abused then I have an undying love for Ironhide."

"You're in love with Ironhide?"

"I was being sarcastic."

"But you said you were in love with him if I wasn't being abused, and I'm not being abused. Doesn't that mean that you're in love with him?"

Scrapper finished replacing his optical glass. The Stunticon could now see the look of confusion on Bonecrusher's faceplates as the Constructicon stared at Hook, silently requesting an explanation.

"I've tried to explain it to him before," sighed the sometimes-medic. "He won't listen. They have him firmly believing all of the slag they feed him." Hook put the finishing touches on his forearm and began to check out the damage to his chest from Motormaster's shot while Scrapper worked on his crushed pede.

"I'm right here, you know."

"Yes, I'm quite aware of that. But really, you shouldn't put up with all of this."

Breakdown for once was the instigator of the optic contact. He looked at each of the Constructicons before asking hoarsely, "What else can I do?"

Nobody spoke for the remainder of the repairs.

Afterwards, Breakdown trudged through the darkened, silent base, pondering his options for the night. He couldn't go back to the Stunticons' quarters, no, not at least for a week this time, if not longer. Hook had instructed him to get some energon to balance out with the amount he had lost, but he remembered Megatron's orders: Due to his failure at the raid, he was not to have any energon. If anybody tried to help him, they would receive the same punishment. Breakdown wasn't sure if Hook was aware of this, but he wouldn't risk the harm of the only mechs who didn't openly hate him. No energon for him in the near future.

Considering how universally fragged off the whole base was with him, corridors and storage closets weren't going to be the best of places tonight. Nope, it looked like Breakdown was going to enjoy the good old outdoors...where all those little woodland creatures could stare at him...

Shoving down his fear and paranoia, the Lambo made for the outdoors, transforming into his alt mode when he reached them. He drove for miles, just him and the rough earthen terrain. When he had finally deemed himself a safe distance from his comrades at about fifty miles away, he found a nice big tree and settled underneath it, still in his alt mode.

Yet he couldn't fall into recharge. Every time he tried, the Constructicons' conversation kept ringing in his helm.

Was he being abused? He didn't think so, but they all did... Well, that squishy femme's book was about abuse. Maybe it could tell him.

It did not take a long time wirelessly surfing the internet to find an online copy of the book. Breakdown pulled it up, and began to read. He skipped a lot of parts, but others jumped out at him.

_No matter what anyone says, it is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong; there is nothing you could have done that could have necessitated abuse. You are the victim in this situation, and don't let anybody ever try to make you think otherwise. They are to blame, not you, no matter what you may or may not have done._

It was just like what the Constructicons had said, and he doubted that they spent their time reading human self-help novels. He skipped some more and continued on.

_Abuse is when someone in your life physically, emotionally, or mentally harms you. They could hit you or beat you, control your life, call you names such as worthless, pathetic, or useless. They may tell you that nobody likes or needs or wants you. This is abuse, and it is _not_ right, no matter what they tell you. You are a person and you do not deserve this treatment. You are better than that._

Breakdown pondered this. Was he really undeserving of this? Could Megatron and his brothers really be the ones in the wrong? Because if this was abuse, it was describing his everyday life. Did that mean that...he was being abused? But these books always talked about a significant other being the abuser. Breakdown didn't have a significant other, because nobody cared about him that much.

He skipped to a section on the abuser.

_Contrary to popular belief, the abuser is not always a man (a victim can be male, and an abuser can be female) and it is not always the victim's significant other. The abuser could be a parent, or even a child, in some cases of abuse to the elderly. They could be a friend or coworker or some sort of superior, or possibly a sibling._

A sibling or superior... They could be abusers too...

Megatron and his brothers _were_ abusing him.

Breakdown didn't know what to do with this revelation. What was he supposed to do? Megatron was the leader of the Decepticons; there was nobody above him in rank to stop him from harming Breakdown or Starscream or any of his soldiers. Motormaster and his brothers...they were tied to him in a gestalt bond. They were always connected to him, though they often blocked him out.

A sudden idea came to Breakdown. He could block them out. He could put up a wall over his side of the bond to keep them from finding him! Wait, keep them from finding him? Yes, that was it. He would run away! They already thought he was a coward. Well, the book said that it was okay to run away from your abuser if you had no other option, nowhere to go. They suggested a shelter, but Breakdown couldn't go there for obvious reasons. He could go to the Autobots... No, that would never work. They hated him too and would kill him on sight, and that would only make everyone hate him more.

But he could leave. He could just continue driving and go far, far away. With a block over his bond, they would never be able to locate him, to drag him back. He could be free, free of the pain and suffering, the crushing loneliness of being unwanted. Fuel may be a problem, but he could try living off of the humans' primitive fuel sources. He'd had to before, and it worked in a pinch. He could do this, he could really do this. And so he would.

Breakdown went about placing a block in his bond. He always treaded lightly when it came to the bond, just in case he might upset someone. For a moment the Lamborghini thought he felt someone stir across the bond, but when no speech came, he continued with his work, building up block after block of codes and firewalls. When he had finished, the wall was sufficiently thick and impenetrable. Nobody would be bothering him anytime soon.

With that task completed, Breakdown made for the road, a copy of the book saved to his hard drive. He didn't know where he would go or what he would do, but he wasn't going to let anybody hurt him anymore. He'd had enough.

He refused to be a victim ever again.

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**That's the first chapter of probably three. Hope you liked it! Please review!**


	2. Used

**I am in complete and total shock at the amount of attention that this had received. By far, it has been the most any of my stories have ever gotten for a first posting. You guys are awesome! Some lovely reviewers told me that the story I was thinking of was ****Suffering in Silence**** by **_**Kibble Beast**_**. If you know that story, it's a lot more cracky (and hilarious) than this, but it helped to inspire this. Thank you everyone for your attention! And yes, for those of you who know, I am still having my war with site formatting. That would be why my lyrics are all weirdly placed and spaced. I've given up on fixing it.**

_**Liz**_**: It surprises me that this can inspire emotional reactions. It's kind of touching. Thank you so much for the wonderful review!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here. The lyrics to "Crying Out" belong to Shinedown.**

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"_**What guides your vision  
What holds the balance  
Don't think that I can't see you shake and tremble  
Well I know your nervous, this world is scary  
You have to let go of all the madness you carry**_

_**Re-invent yourself today**_

_**Re-invent your world today**_

_**Cryin' out for the last time**_

_**Clear a space for the warning signs**_

_**Cryin' out for the last time**_

_**And there's no turning back**_

_**Now that you've opened up to your mind"**_

_~ "Crying Out" - Shinedown_

Motormaster came out of recharge in a grumpy mood. That wasn't exactly out of the norm, considering he was almost never happy unless he was beating the living slag out of someone.

Ugh. That just reminded him of Breakdown. Why did his brother have to be so paranoid? If he was normal in the processors, then he wouldn't have been terrified by the Autobots, and he wouldn't have messed up on the raid, and then Motormaster wouldn't have had to pound him.

It wasn't that Motormaster enjoyed hurting his brothers – okay, he did, but he didn't enjoy it as much as he would beating someone else to a pulp, say, an Autobot, or another Decepticon if no Autoscum were present. But he had to beat his brothers when they didn't behave or do well in missions. Not only did it help him take out his anger, but he had to show them that he was the boss and that they were not to make the Stunticons look bad in front of others. If he had to beat it into them for them to understand, so be it.

Besides, Megatron beat his troops all the time. Obviously beating your own underlings was allowed in the Decepticons if their own leader participated in it. And his brothers didn't really care if he had to beat obedience into them; Pit, Drag Strip and Wildrider beat the slag out of each other on a daily basis, and they were just messing around! Obviously, he had to hurt them more than they normally would each other while roughhousing if he wanted to get it through their thick heads that they had to behave! It was simple, really.

The Stunticon commander rolled out of his berth with a scowl on his faceplates, per usual, and stalked out of his personal quarters and into the Stunticons' common room. He couldn't help but frown at the energon stains on the floor where he had left an injured Breakdown the night before. Maybe it was overkill, harming him when he had already been thrashed by Megatron, but he had to assert his dominance just as their commander did.

Vaguely, he wondered where Breakdown had wandered off to after last night. He always disappeared for days at a time, but Motormaster thought nothing of it, as long as his work was done and he returned for their next mission. It was the least he could do, allow his brother to lick his wounds in peace as he regained what little dignity he had. Motormaster smiled to himself, proud of being able to prove just how benevolent he was.

But still, he felt almost..._guilty_ for what he had done. This was promptly quashed. Megatron never felt remorse for teaching his troops a lesson, and neither should he. But he couldn't help but wonder where Breakdown had gone off to this time...

A loud clearing of vents, a Cybertronian yawn, came from Motormaster's left, and a turn of the helm revealed Wildrider, staggering out of his quarters in a way that would have made the commander think that he was over-energized off his aft if he didn't already know for sure that the Stunticons had no high-grade to get over-energized on. Pit, thanks to Breakdown, they had almost no energon at all!

"What's wrong with you?" the King of the Road asked his brother. Not that he _cared_, of course. He just wanted to, you know, _know_, for uh – Just because he wanted to, alright? And not for any of those caring reasons, either, because the Decepticons didn't care about anybody. Ever. Not even a little bit. Not even when they beat the slag out of them all the time. Because that showed just how much they didn't care, because they were good Decepticons. Good Decepticons? Wasn't that an oxymoron? Shouldn't it be bad Decepticons? Really, that was just confusing –

"What's _right_ with him?" Drag Strip snickered as he entered the room, offhandedly realizing that he had probably just pulled Motormaster from one of his "I'm a good Decepticon!" mind rants. Their commander went on a lot of those in his effort to be the best, and it didn't help that he often forgot to block out his brothers when he did so. Eh, they were all crazy in their own ways, and that was Motormaster's.

"Shut up," Wildrider groused, not really meaning it. He slapped a servo on Dead End's door, the sound resounding through the common room. "Yo End, up and at 'em! Or else we're leaving without ya!"

A shuffling noise was heard from the other side of the door, and soon the fatalist appeared. "Yes, because it would really matter if we left together. It won't matter in the end, when we're all dead."

Drag Strip shook his helm. "Yeah, yeah, shut it. 'S called being a family, End."

Motormaster barely kept from saying something. It was moment's like this where he felt almost left out in his own gestalt. The others, they could banter without hurting each other, though in Drag Strip and Wildrider's cases they usually did anyway. But they could just talk, and actually act..._brotherly_. As a commander, he couldn't do that, or he would be ridiculed and looked down upon. He never realized it consciously, but the Stunticon was actually a little hurt that he was not part of these activities, was not included in the...family, as Drag Strip had said. His brothers always tended to stick together, even if he wasn't there.

Except for Breakdown. If anything, he was more alienated from his brothers than Motormaster was. The Lamborghini would disappear, and Motormaster knew that his disappearing act unnerved the others, even if he himself could understand the need to regain his dignity. But he had still heard Wildrider complaining about it to the others, about how he _worried _for the other when he went missing. Wildrider thought that maybe Breakdown didn't want to be with them, and would get upset about it.

Motormaster knew better. He knew about the spark-clenching fear that his paranoid brother had of him. What he didn't know, though, was that the same fear had spread to all of the Stunticons, until Breakdown was afraid to be in the same room with them for the fear of being beaten or injured, whether he deserved it or not.

The four made their way to the Decepticons' rec room. It was early, so the room was not too full, but other mechs were filing in for their morning rations, little of them that they could get.

Motormaster wasn't the only one of his brothers to be confused when the Constructicons kept sending them death glares as the Stunticons got their morning rations. The green and purple elder gestalt was staring at the younger group, their glares a mixture of disgust, loathing, incredulity, and disappointment. Drag Strip, never one to hold his glossa, just had to speak rather loudly to Dead End as he sauntered past the Constructicons' table.

"Wonder what crawled up their tailpipes and died?" he joked, not at all paying attention to the way that Bonecrusher's servos were clenching and unclenching in a manner that looked uncomfortably like he was strangling an invisible mech. Scavenger put a servo on his older brother's shoulder, trying to stop him, but was shrugged off.

Speaking quietly to his brother, Bonecrusher mumbled, "Sorry Scavy, but I've got some slag to deal with." He stood and took a menacing step towards the Stunticons.

Motormaster was a little taken aback by the sudden hostility. He was used to fights with the Combaticons, but the Constructicons almost never drew them out for fights, usually stating that they didn't want to deal with the "idiotic younglings." Still, he wasn't about to just let them insult his brothers like that. Once again, he added a tally to his "Ways that I'm a Benevolent Leader" chart.

"What did you say?" he snarled in the bulldozer's faceplates.

"Cut the tough act, you punk-aft little fragger. I ain't putting up with any more of your slag. You wanna throw down with me and the rest of the 'Cons, that's fine, but don't you dare go messing with mechs you know can't, or rather won't fight back."

"What are you talking about?" Motormaster's optics narrowed dangerously. Just what in Primus' name did this imbecile think he was insinuating?

"Oh, stuff it! We all know what I'm talking about. You beat the Pit out of your own team, and you expect everyone to just sit by idly and do nothing? Well, maybe the rest of these wimp-afts will, but I ain't putting up with it. Just because you're their commander doesn't give you the right to thrash them. It is not fair, nor is it appropriate or necessary. And don't you dare give me any crap about Megatron doing so, because are you Megatron? No, I didn't think so. So if you wanna continue on your Slag Maker-idolizing, then get in line behind Starscream and Soundwave and leave your team the slag alone, because they don't have to jump on the bandwagon-beat-down just because you are."

It felt as if someone had poured fresh coolant down his back struts. In a terribly shaky voice, one that Motormaster would forever deny, he mumbled, "What?"

"Don't you 'what' me!" Bonecrusher angrily scolded. "Do you think Breakdown deserved all of that? The poor kid already hated himself for what happened at the raid, _and_ Megatron had pounded the life out of him, and you _still_ felt the need to break him even more!"

Before the commander could formulate a retort, Hook had started speaking, standing next to his brother. "Others might fight back when you strike them; most mechs here can give a beating just as well as they can take one, but we all know that Breakdown is just too fragging loyal to you to do anything about it. He has it in his processors that everything you do to him is just fine and dandy because he's never known anything but pain from you. I have never seen a mech more thoroughly slagged over on such a regular basis than Breakdown; even Starscream fares better than him!"

Motormaster was not just going to take this public humiliation lightly. "What else should I do, hmm? How is the way I treat my subordinates any of your business?"

Hook seethed in barely restrained fury. "Because I'm the one who has to repair them every time you abuse them!"

"Then don't bother repairing them!"

Oh, Hook wasn't taking any more of this. He screamed in unadulterated rage, "If I hadn't repaired Breakdown last night, he would have been dead by dawn!"

All was silent in the rec room. Much of the crew had heard about a fight going down and had high-tailed it to the rec room to view it, but they didn't want to get into the middle of the screaming match. While the Constructicons were all standing firmly behind their brothers by now, the Stunticons were scattered and unsure. Nobody had ever stood against Motormaster before, but that didn't shock them as much as the fact that somebody was standing up for them, and they hadn't even expressed a need for it. But they could not deny that they had all at one point of another wished that Motormaster could treat them more civilly.

The one thought that held all of the Stunticons' processors in a stranglehold was the very idea that their youngest brother could have been deactivated. Motormaster was the most alarmed, and it showed on his usually angry faceplates.

He could have killed Breakdown? Logically, he knew that he could kill any one of his brothers if he tried, but that wasn't the point. Just the idea that he had almost deactivated one of his brothers brought his tanks to revolt. It wasn't that bad, it couldn't be that bad. He wasn't trying to kill them, just teach them lessons! They weren't supposed to actually be _that_ injured...

Hook had started his rant, and by Primus nobody was stopping him now.

"Yeah, surprised? You slagging well should be! Your brother puts up with all of your slag and doesn't complain, doesn't fight back, and you take advantage of that to abuse him, and he's so blinded by his misplaced trust in you that he doesn't even realize it! If I hadn't hung around the medbay to wait for Breakdown to show up, and if he hadn't gathered that unbelievable willpower of his to drag himself down there, he undoubtedly would have deactivated due to energon loss. And you know what? That's not the first time this has happened! Multiple times he's come in with injuries that would have made an Autobot purge their tanks; Pit, they've made _me_ want to purge _my_ tanks! And every time, he just sits there and says that it's his fault because he deserved the beating. And you know what? Maybe in your twisted processors he did. But do you think he deserves death?"

With that dramatic flourish, Hook stalked out of the room, followed by his brothers, who each glared at Motormaster in turn. After the Constructicons' exit, the rec room erupted in noise. Mechs gossiped amongst themselves about what had just happened, and some sneered and jeered at the Stunticon commander. That ended fairly quickly after he grabbed one of them – he couldn't be bothered to remember who – and pitched him at a group of others, knocking them all down like he was playing that human game with the pins, bowling.

Motormaster stomped from the room, energon forgotten. His brothers followed nervously in his stead, unsure if he meant for them to follow or not, or if he would just harm them, assuming that they had complained to the Constructicons. To hopefully appease his commander, Wildrider grabbed his forgotten energon cube on his way out the door.

The group eventually found themselves back in their common room, where Motormaster pounded his fist into the wall with an almighty roar almost worthy of Megatron. The giant hole matched the rest of the dents and blemishes surrounding it, most of them being results of Motormaster's temper.

"Um, Boss?" Drag Strip asked nervously, at the moment being the bravest of his brothers. Dead End was too busy imagining how this would be the end, how they would all be eviscerated by their own commander, while Wildrider was thinking how it was all so similar to a human slasher film he had watched with Skywarp, Brawl, Rumble and Frenzy once; while he thought this, he clung to Dead End like a baby koala to its mother.

Motormaster spun on his pede, a wild look in his optics that would have been befitting of, well, Wildrider. "What?" He practically spat the word out of his mouth like it tasted foul.

Drag Strip took a moment to gather his courage. "We, uh, brought your energon."

But their commander's processor was already on something else, and he ignored the weak statement. "Do you all really think that?"

"Think what?" Dead End asked with a neutral expression on his faceplates. He allowed Drag Strip to hide behind him as Wildrider already was. It was fine with him – he was the least fearful of deactivation, and had already accepted that their demise was coming sooner than any of them had expected.

"What Hook said. Do you all blame yourselves for everything?"

Dead End gave him an almost bored look. "You would rather we did, as it would get across the point you're trying to convey in your quest for dominance. What I believe Hook was trying to tell you was that we can usually spot our own wrongs with a simple verbal chastisement, and that your physical punishments do more harm than help, though if you're trying to help us die like we all will fairly soon then you're doing a fine job of it."

"What do you mean, die soon?" Motormaster knew that Dead End was a fatalist – really, who didn't? – but the tone that was being used was so _final_, it brought an uncomfortable feeling to his spark.

"Undoubtedly you are going to punish us for being so forward and blunt, and because you're pissed at everyone, per usual, and we aren't strong enough to save ourselves, even if we tried. I don't know about these two, but I for one won't even bother exerting the energy to try because it will all be for naught in the end."

The commander felt as if he was adhered to his spot on the floor. "You think I'm going to kill you?"

"Presumably; you've only kept us around thus far because you're unsure of the effects our deactivations could have on yourself, due to the gestalt bond. Oh don't look so surprised, we've all hated our bond at some point in our lives, you the most of all. Most of us hate being bonded _to_ you because of your treatment of us. If you haven't realized, we probably would have left multiple times over by now if we weren't bonded to you, and if these two weren't so set on their impossible images of a perfect family, and if Breakdown would actually accept that you are the one harming us, and that it isn't our fault that you're an unstable fragger with a giant mech-crush on Megatron and his power." Dead End realized that he was way out of line, but hey, if he was going to die, he might as well get it all out while he was at it.

As usual, Motormaster's CPU had pulled one part of the speech and had clung to it. "You hate me?"

Dead End sighed in that depressed way that only he could pull off. "No, not completely, because somehow no matter how you hurt us we can't bring ourselves to truly hate someone who we're bonded to, even if you block us out more often than not. But we do hate the way you treat us. Why do you care, though? Isn't that what you wanted, for us to be afraid of you, to hate you?"

No, that hadn't been his intentions at all. He had wanted obedience. He had wanted to impress Megatron and all of the Decepticons with his perfectly running gestalt, but had then received a bunch of quirky nut jobs who he tried to beat into shape, literally. A little healthy bit of fear was what he had wanted, just enough to remind them who was in charge. But he had never intended for them to truly dislike him, to even hate him.

And he had most certainly not wanted them to leave. That statement had been a like a direct hit to the spark for him. They had wanted to leave him? But, they couldn't! These were the only mechs he could stand on base, the only ones that could stand him! Without them, he was alone. Nobody liked him, and before now he had been okay with that. One of the upsides to having a gestalt, no matter how dysfunctional they were, was the added plus that no matter what you did, they wouldn't leave you because they were bonded to you. Decepticons may have believed that they didn't need love or friendship, but everyone needed some form of companionship, and without his gestalt Motormaster would have been left alone. That idea horrified him more than he cared to admit.

"No," he whispered.

His brothers almost offlined in shock. Motormaster was never quiet, and he most certainly never admitted a fault. And here he was doing both... Primus, something must have actually gotten through that thick helm of his.

"You would have left?" he asked softly, too softly for his brothers' liking. They wanted him to stop hurting them, they didn't want him to become an Autobot!

"Yeah, if we could have," Wildrider said. "But we can't, so it doesn't matter. The real question is, what are you going to do about all of this? Are you going to kill us, or are you going to 'change your ways,' or what?"

Wildrider's not only lucid but intelligent statement garnered shocked looks from his brothers. "What? I'm allowed to be smart sometimes."

"No you ain't!" Drag Strip cackled, ducking the fist that swung at him. While the two bickered, Dead End took the chance to impress a point upon the stricken-looking Motormaster.

"Do you see what they are doing?" he asked his leader, taking a step closer but remaining out of swinging distance. "They are behaving like a normal gestalt. They're play-fighting, roughhousing but not doing much damage. That happens around everyone else. Your need to surpass them in injuries, that's not normal. Trust me, a verbal punishment does fine. We're not so stupid that we can't understand our own wrongdoings; most times, we're already berating ourselves when you start in on us. And one more thing: Despite your beliefs and those of many Decepticons, Megatron is not always right. You should think about that sometime. But for now, Wildrider's question takes more precedence."

Motormaster had a lot to think about, like Dead End said – speaking of Dead End, when did he get so smart? But still, he had a decision to make, and it was surprisingly easy to do so.

"I," he began, choking on the words that his vocalizer struggled to let him say. "I want to...to change. If I could..."

He could never have imagined the beatific grins on his brothers' faces – well, Dead End wasn't grinning, but he had what qualified as a small smirk. "Right answer," said the fatalist, uncharacteristically non-depressing.

"You do get what that means, right?" said Drag Strip, also uncharacteristic in the sincerity in his optics. "You can't beat on us, no matter what we do. Punishments have to be fitting of what we've done, and they can't involve hitting us or something like that. Like, extra shifts or something, that works fine."

"Anything else?" Motormaster was almost amused to find himself negotiating a peace treaty of sorts with his own brothers.

Wildrider spoke up, "Um, if you could, like, stand up for us when Megatron and everyone else start in on us, it would be, uh, really nice of you, but you don't have to or anything if you don't want to..."

Yes, he was definitely amused by now. But defending them in front of others, he could do that. He nodded concisely, and was maybe-sort-of pleased with the happy looks in his brothers' optics. Another point for Good Leader Motormaster.

"Hey, where's Breakdown off to this time?" Wildrider asked. "Want to share with him the news of the new-and-improved you!" His optics dimmed briefly as he accessed the bond, searching for his younger brother. He then cried out in fear and staggered back a few steps.

"'Rider, what's wrong?" Drag Strip was asking the usually psychotic mech, who clutched his helm and tried again in vain find his brother.

"He's not there," he mumbled. "It's like he put up a wall or something. He's not there!"

Motormaster watched as each of his brothers checked the bond and came to the same, horrified conclusion: Breakdown had blocked them out.

He himself tried to access the bond, but could not find his youngest brother. If their bond was like their common room, with each member of the gestalt being their own room, then Breakdown had removed the door on his room and covered over the opening, until there was barely a seam in the wall showing that he had once been there. No matter how hard the group tried, they couldn't get their brother to respond to them. It was like he had never been there.

Motormaster poked at the wall, but nothing happened. Why would Breakdown do this? When one of them threw a fit and got upset, they might place a thin wall over their part of the bond, like a glass window, but the others could still see how they were or possibly break the wall if necessary.

This, this was like someone was trying to leave forever. _Forever..._

Breakdown couldn't leave them, leave him! Not now, not when he was going to change his ways, be a better brother and leader. He just couldn't! He wasn't allowed to leave!

"Where did he go?" whimpered Wildrider, curled in a ball on the floor. It did hurt, to be detached from one's own brother. Not as much as one of their deaths would, but still a lot. "Why did he leave us?"

"He ran away," Drag Strip said in tone of dazed disbelief. "We were such slaggers that he ran away."

Even Dead End was stationary in astonishment, left speechless. Breakdown had done what they were all too afraid to do – he had gotten out before he was killed. It was just the Stunticons' wonderful timing that Motormaster made a complete turn-around right after he had left.

Motormaster watched his brothers fall apart in front of his optics. They needed a leader, now more than ever, and by Primus he was going to be that for them. This was his time to prove to them that he could be a leader that they liked, even looked up to. But they didn't say he had to be an Autobot about it.

"Get up, you miserable heaps. Are we just going to sit around doing nothing, or are we going to get our brother back?"

Wildrider looked up at his eldest brother nervously. "We're going to get our brother back?" he asked.

"Turn that question into a declaration and you'll get the picture." Wildrider took a moment to do so, and then smiled.

"We're going to get Breakdown back!" he cheered, back to his usual bubbly self.

"You bet your aft we are," Motormaster confirmed. He wouldn't let anything separate his gestalt, even if it was himself. He was going to fix the mess he had made, no matter what.

Breakdown was coming home. Then they could be that real family Wildrider and Drag Strip wanted.

* * *

**I know this was a little cheesy, but I hope you liked it anyway! One more chapter to go!**


	3. And Oh So Confused

**Good news for you guys – due to a new idea, I have extended this story! As a reviewer pointed out, Motormaster hasn't really had enough angst yet, and I just love my angst so much that most of this chapter is devoted to just that, with a surprise twist at the end to set up the rest of the story. Basically, there should be about two or so chapters following this, just because I couldn't give this all a proper ending with my new idea within one chapter. Hope you don't mind! **

**Also, I'm done with the lyrics, just because I'm getting annoyed with the formatting problems that arise. Document Manager is just so touchy these days. It was only a repeat of the chorus left, anyway. I may put in a few from another Shinedown song later, I don't know.**

_**Liz: **_**Once again, thanks for the awesome review and you'll be happy to know that this is continuing! And cheese is quite the good food. ;)**

_**Thornwitch**_**: I understand what you mean, I feel the same way. I hope this makes it a little better!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here. I also don't own Wolverine or the X-Men, both of which are referenced here.**

* * *

Breakdown drove down the empty Canadian road, extremely proud of himself. Here he was, the farthest he had ever been from his brothers, from any other Decepticons since onlining, and he hadn't died yet! Dead End was wrong when he said they would probably die if they separated. He hadn't, he was actually doing well for himself, considering less than a human day had passed since he made his decision to leave. Finally, he understood what those squishies meant with the expression "on top of the world."

Canada was the best choice for someone trying to escape their past – the Autobots didn't live there, and the Decepticons would never think to look for him there. Plus, he remembered that cool squishy from those X-Men movies on television traveling across Canada by himself, and for some reason he felt kindred to the fictional human for that. Both were alone in the world with dark pasts, but were making do with that and moving forward. He just wished he had the ability to forget like the amnesiac mutant had.

The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became that he had been abused. Primus, he had known he was stupid, but he hadn't thought he was _that_ stupid. But only he could have taken this long to figure out what had been happening to him for his entire life.

Motormaster had punched him on his first orn of life, because he had hesitated to swear his loyalty to Megatron. That had been the beginning, when he had a lower threshold for pain and a punch to the faceplates was a shock. Now here he was injured until he almost died, and for what? Because he couldn't do something that everyone already knew he couldn't? And oh, that was some sour energon to swallow. Really, he knew he was pathetic, but everyone planned ahead of time for him to be so?

No. He wasn't going to put up with it anymore. If anyone was going to call him names, it would be him. The rest of them could lay off, could go pick on some Autobots or something. But they were going to leave him the slag alone, or by the Pit he would show them just how it felt to be on the receiving end of his concussion cannon. He didn't need the other Decepticons, or even the other Stunticons. He was going to be just fine on his own, and if they tried to follow him, he would rip them to shreds.

Breakdown continued his drive with that thought prevalent in his processors. The Lamborghini noticed that he was low on fuel, but did nothing about it. He didn't have a holoform like some of the other Decepticons, and frankly he didn't want to get one. It would just give people more of a chance to stare at him, both the holoform and his true form. He shuddered just imagining it.

The only fuel option left was to wait for night to come again and then try to take gasoline from a human station. After driving all night and all day, he was starting to feel a little sluggish, but was intent on putting more and more space between himself and his brothers. He didn't want to go as far as the true Arctic – he'd rather his energon didn't freeze in his lines, thanks much – but northern Canada would suffice. Not as populated as the rest of it, so less people to watch him, but not so under-populated that a Lamborghini would be really out of the norm.

Hmmm... Maybe he should change his alt mode. After all, a Lamborghini was pretty conspicuous. It was one of the reasons he attracted looks. He would have changed it ages ago, but he liked the speed too much. Plus, Motormaster had told him before when he meekly brought up changing his alt mode that he was cursed enough to be stuck with him, the commander didn't want to deal with a useless subordinate with a bad alt mode, too. According to him, if he had to be seen with Breakdown, then the least Breakdown could do was have a somewhat attractive alt mode.

The Lambo had a sudden urge to change his alt mode, just to spite Motormaster. He would choose something that had an okay speed and was completely and utterly plain. That way, it wouldn't be so flashy or so trashy that it stood out. He would blend in, and nobody would look twice at him – or once at him – and Motormaster, though he would never see the alt mode, would be thoroughly spited nonetheless.

It was the perfect plan, and he would enact it once he passed something that fit his standards.

For now, he would drive until night fell and he could refuel and maybe find a place to recharge. So drive he did.

* * *

The Stunticons' resolve quickly fell as they realized that they had absolutely no idea where the Pit their brother had disappeared to. Once they reached the highway, their ideas immediately ended.

Did he take this exit, or that one? Or did he keep driving? Did he go off-road? Did he even _know _where he wanted to go? Was he lost? Was he scared? Did he miss them? What if the Autobots found him?

These questions and more bounced around in the gestalt bond that had finally been cracked open after so many musty vorns of being kept only the slightest bit open, just enough to not hurt. Now the thing was wide open like a book, letting the light and the feelings through.

Motormaster was less inclined to "open up" to his brothers, and only opened his side of the bond minimally, which was a lot for him, considering he usually closed himself off, though without a block as strong as Breakdown's. Maybe this was that willpower that Hook had mentioned, that the Stunticons had never seen before. Whatever it was, Motormaster pondered it as he allowed himself to fester in his own processors, other doubts and second guesses slithering through his CPU.

Was he being too lenient with his team by humoring them with their ideas? Megatron would think so. A lot of mechs used corporeal punishment – maybe he should tone his down just a bit, just enough to get the Constructicons off his back. After all, who would listen with just a verbal punishment? Even if they knew what they had done wrong, his brothers still needed something else to remind them not to do it again.

What if they had purposely chosen to go against orders? Then they would already know what they had done wrong, but they might not feel badly for it; he would have to _make_ them feel badly for it. He could simply see no way that one could properly punish their subordinates without laying a servo on them. It just did not seem physically possible.

He had promised his brothers, though... Pit, but since when did Decepticons keep promises? Motormaster felt his new resolve crumbling. _He _was their commander for a reason! He didn't have to promise them anything! It wasn't like he owed them at all; Primus, with all he did for them, _they _should be the ones who owed _him_!

Drag Strip and Wildrider were racing while he mentally ranted, and of course Drag Strip was bent on winning, screaming curses at Wildrider all the way while the less-sane brother just cackled in manic glee.

That scene brought a twinge of guilt to his spark. Leader or not, he _had _made a promise to them. And those looks on their faces when he agreed, when he told them that he would try to change for them...

Ah, but there was the clincher! He said he would _try_ to change; he hadn't promised anything! Yes he could "try" to change, but that was all he had to do! It wasn't his fault if his attempts failed and he then resorted back to his original means of punishment.

Dead End pulled back to drive next to his commander.

_Motormaster?_ he asked using the bond. Due to how closed off Motormaster's side of the bond still was, it was but a whisper through his processors, barely there at all. Realizing that he would have to open up to the others more if he wanted to hear at all, the largest Stunticon grudgingly did so, and was swept up immediately in the torrent of emotions that swam through the bond.

Happiness, joy, relief, fear for Breakdown, guilt, a bit of sadness, resolve – all came over Motormaster in a tidal wave as he felt what his brothers did. Most present was a feeling he himself was not accustomed to being exposed to at all, and he wondered how his brothers even knew it existed: Love.

_How...What is that?_ He couldn't keep his surprise from the bond; luckily, Wildrider and Drag Strip were too caught up in their race to no particular finish line to hear him.

_What's what?_ Dead End asked in true confusion.

_That...that _thing!

Dead End chuckled uncharacteristically across the bond; why was everyone so out-of-character lately? It was too strange. _Well, we like to call him Wildrider, because apparently it's kind of rude to call him a "thing."_

_Not him! That, that _feeling.

The Porsche mock-gasped. _Oh, this is good. The great King of the Road knows what feelings are? I never would have guessed._

_Shut up and answer me, you moron._

_Well, it's nice to see that we're back to our normal, happy self. That, dear leader, is a little something called love. You might have heard about it before? You know, something that you feel for bondmates and friends and dare I say it, brothers?_

Motormaster harrumphed loudly. _Since when did you become so sarcastic?_ he asked.

_I always have been – sarcasm and fatalism go servo in servo. You just never noticed because you were too busy telling me to shut up._

_Oh._

He wasn't sure what else he could say to that. How much had he missed about his brothers because he was blocking them out? And that brought another thought to mind – if he went back to his old ways, no doubt someone, probably him, would set up blocks again. Then he would continue missing things. He had never known that Dead End had a sense of humor, even a dry and sarcastic one. What else didn't he know about his own brothers, about his own bond?

_A lot._ Motormaster almost jolted to a stop when he realized that this comment came from Drag Strip, but he covered his surprise well. _You spend a lot of time ranting, and when you do everybody can hear you, 'cause you always drop your walls when you're thinking hard about something._

Anger was the first emotion to pass through his mind, pure, irrational fury that others had overheard him, even if it was his own fault. That anger died almost immediately when he felt the flinches and fear that came back through the bond. While a part of him reveled in being able to place such fear in others, this new, weaker, more brotherly part of him was more than a little upset that he could so easily terrify the others. It was like they gained a little bit of confidence to speak freely to him, and one small remark could anger him and in turn bring his brothers back to their petrified, cautious states of mind.

_I'm not angry with you,_ he sent along the bond. That was the closest he could bring himself to giving an apology, but the feelings of acceptance told him that even that small effort was appreciated. That made it even harder for him to have thoughts about going back on his word.

Why did they all have to be so fragging happy? Seriously, who would have thought that his brothers, the slagging psychotic, murderous Stunticons, were practically sweet at spark? Just thinking that brought irrational fear – and really, wasn't all fear irrational to a Decepticon? – to his spark.

If the other Decepticons found out, they would for sure try to hurt his brothers, torture them, kill them, even. And he couldn't let that happen. Not just for his own sake, he was vaguely surprised to find, but for theirs, too. He didn't want any harm befalling his "younger" brothers. So he would have to ensure that the others did not find out, or if they did, he would have to remind them why everyone feared the great Motormaster. Nobody hurt his brothers.

But wasn't that what he planned to do? He could have groaned at the turmoil in his processors. He planned to hurt them, but he didn't want anyone to hurt them, even himself. Talk about conflicting thoughts.

_Cybertron to Motormaster, come in Motormaster,_ Wildrider called over the bond with a mostly sane cackle. And what was with that? His insane brother had been surprisingly lucid of late, and he couldn't understand why.

_He gets "upset" when the bond is blocked,_ Dead End provided, and with a half-thought curse Motormaster realized he had been thinking "aloud" again. _Now that everyone – well, almost everyone – has the bond wide open, he feels more...grounded, so to speak. Being able to feel everybody clearly helps him keep his grip on things._ By "things," the larger Stunticon knew he meant reality.

_So you mean that..._ Motormaster couldn't really finish the thought, but was able to send the general idea to his brother without needing to put it all into words. He had forgotten how useful a bond could be in favor of only thinking of the negatives to it.

_Yes, by blocking him, and us, out, you were impeding his ability to stay sane. He's not that bad, under the best circumstances._

_And under the worst?_

_We try not to think about it and do our best to keep that from ever happening._

_Hey! _The mech in thought complained. _Stop talking about me like I'm not here! It's so rude!_

_You aren't here! _Motormaster called back in an unusually candid manner. _You and Drag Strip are at least five miles ahead us, thanks to your little race. Which reminds me, get your afts back here where I can see them!_

_Aw, you do care! _The Ferrari called, but he did turn around, kicking up asphalt as he did, to return to his brothers. Drag Strip followed soon after, wanting to get back to the others before Wildrider just so he could "win," all the while muttering, _I so won that race. We all know it._

Motormaster found that he actually wanted to laugh at his brothers' antics. They were amusing, something he had never before realized. His brothers could make him laugh! How did he never notice that?

_You never paid attention before,_ Dead End said quietly. Had he been in his bipedal form, Motormaster would have shot him a look.

_How did you get so smart? _He felt a wave of pleased embarrassment come from the Porsche. _Probably another thing I missed. So what else have I not noticed, hmm?_

It was with much delight that his brothers filled him in on their many exploits and adventures, telling him of each others' quirks as they did so. Many times were regaled, such as when Dead End joined an online chat club for depressing poetry and accidentally gained an enamored stalker (his brothers would never let him forget that); and when Wildrider drove into a lake to prove his belief that fish lived there; and countless times when Drag Strip goaded humans into drag-racing with him, and of course won.

What wasn't mentioned, though, were any stories about Breakdown. Motormaster knew that his brothers were afraid that it might be a touchy subject for him, but the more he heard about them, the more he wanted to know about the timid Lamborghini.

_So what about Breakdown?_

Silence across the bond. Motormaster was used to that sort of calm nothing, but after the non-stop chatter of the last few joors, it was disconcerting to suddenly be shrouded in quiet once more.

Dead End once again was the first to speak – it made Motormaster wonder how often the Porsche had to act as a leader when he was off ignoring them.

_He's...quirky._

Drag Strip snorted. _Yeah, quirky is one word for it. Another is paranoid. Like this one time when we drove through a big city and all the humans were staring at him..._

The story continued, and Motormaster heard not only what he already knew of the other's paranoia, around humans especially, but of some of the odd ways he dealt with it, including but not limited to creatively traumatizing squishies and occasionally getting into screaming matches with them and in one case, stealing their puppy and giving it to Wildrider, who was delighted with his new pet. Motormaster was surprised to hear that Wildrider's dog "Jerry" actually lived on the Decepticon base. How had he not realized that his brother was keeping an Earth creature in his room?

_You don't pay attention to most things, that's how,_ Drag Strip said with no little amount of annoyance in his tone.

_I've been trying to explain that to him,_ intoned Dead End.

It was times like this where Motormaster's familiar old anger flared up, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to even snap at his brothers, because they were right. He hadn't spent a lot of time paying attention to his brothers, and he didn't often spend time with them. He didn't know nearly as much as he should about them, but he was learning.

Suddenly his decision to go back to his old ways was destroyed. He just couldn't bring himself to do it, to take away this light, happy, downright familial conversation. He couldn't take those smiles from their faceplates, or that happy chatter from the bond. For once in his somewhat short life, Motormaster had made someone – no, not just someone, but his _brothers_, happy. He had made his brothers happy, and by Primus he couldn't take that away. The sense of accomplishment, of joy, of _belonging_, was just too great to give up.

He was beginning to create a sort of bond past that of the gestalt with his brothers, and the hardened Decepticon couldn't imagine killing it off now. It was just too..._nice _not having everybody angry all the time. Now if he could just make things better with Breakdown...

_Hey Boss, don't wanna pull you from your rant-y thoughts or nothing, but we need a plan, _Drag Strip called over the bond. _We can't just drive aimlessly; we're never gonna find Breakdown that way._

Motormaster started to think on this when jet engines rumbled in the distance – engines that were far too powerful to be of human creation.

_Autobots!_ Dead End shouted. _That's it, we're doomed. We're all going to die now and we'll never get Breakdown back._

_End_? Motormaster asked in a tone that was far too nice.

_Yes?_

_Shut up._

_Got it, Boss._

And oh, he did enjoy how freely everyone would admit that he was in charge. He didn't even have to hit them before they did it!

Puffing himself up, Motormaster began to instruct his brothers as four jets came into view in the distance.

_We're not getting into a fight now, as much as I hate to admit it, not if we're not who they're coming for. Dampen your signals and your energy fields and let them pass over us._

_Why? _Drag Strip asked as he grumpily did what he was told. He didn't like letting any Autobots get away, especially not the Aerialbots, their sworn enemies. And there were only four of them coming, too! It wasn't like they were outnumbered.

_Because they might be able to lead us to Breakdown. Why else would a bunch of Autoscum be out this far from their base?_

Frankly surprised at the logic used in that idea, the others were silent as they allowed the Aerialbots to pass over them. Stupid Autobot jets, they didn't even notice that they had just flown over four of their enemies.

Once the Aerialbots were a good distance in front of them, Motormaster called to his brothers, _Follow them._

* * *

Silverbolt was not a happy camper. Not only was he Primus-knew-how-far from the Autobot base and flying when he didn't have to be, but Fireflight had decided to run away again.

Yes, again. This happened on a fairly regular basis, but the young jet had never actually followed through on his threat before. It began as usual – Fireflight got distracted during flight practice and his brothers reprimanded him for it. Okay, so maybe they were a little harsher this time, annoyance and exasperation making their comments more barbed than usual. However, things wouldn't have escalated this far on a normal day.

Usually, Fireflight, upset at being so thoroughly chastised, would threaten to run away. This wasn't exactly unusual, as it happened most times when the fighting got bad. He would fly off for a few hours and be back before dusk.

And then this fight went wrong.

Slingshot, being himself, just _had_ to comment on all of Fireflight's past endeavors, saying that he always "came crawling back like a grounder by nightfall." In defiance, the younger jet actually made a conscious effort to leave this time, and slag was he doing a good job of it.

Because Fireflight didn't know how to properly cover his bond, as the Aerials couldn't even dream of needing to do so, they could still feel muted forms of his feelings through his "block," and track him, which is what they were doing when they unwittingly flew over the Stunticons in search of their wayward brother.

A few odd feelings had trickled over the bond of late, a bit of fear soon followed by a sort of happy camaraderie and friendship. Silverbolt didn't know what that meant, but it made all of the Aerialbots pick up the pace.

After all, Fireflight was way too trusting for his own good. One could only guess who he had run into that he had decided was his new "friend."

* * *

**And this is the perfect set up for the next chapter! I know my usually long notes are kind of short, but I have to go dig a bike with flat tires out of my garage so I can go geo-caching in fifteen minutes! Please review!**


	4. When It Comes to New Friends

**Well, I believe this is one of the longest chapters, which I hope makes up for how late it is. The beginning of this one gave me a hard time, but I worked through it, and I like where the chapter leaves off. I hope you do too! And once again, thank you all so much for the attention that this story has been given. Over forty reviews for three chapters? That's just amazing. Thank you all so much! And again, forgive me if I missed a line break.**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here. **

* * *

Breakdown came online to a gun pointed at the hood of his alt mode.

Fantastic.

He followed the gun up to a white servo, and then a similarly colored arm, and eventually reached a red chassis with a white helm. Of course, an Autobot just _had_to show up. Primus, he had only been gone for twenty-four hours!

The gun wavered slightly. Oh, he knew which one this was.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the little jet that couldn't." Breakdown was quite proud of himself for his witty barb, even if it referenced a squishy sparkling story.

The Aerialbot, who he knew to be Fireflight, frowned in honest confusion. "Couldn't what?"

Breakdown sighed in annoyance. "Aren't you Autobrats supposed to love your human culture?" The jet's faceplates brightened and he nodded avidly, waiting for the Lamborghini to continue. Okay, this was getting weird. He knew this one was known to be airheaded, no pun intended, but why wasn't he attacking yet?

"There's a human sparkling story with a similar name. Never mind, it doesn't matter. So, are you going to shoot me?"

Fireflight looked taken aback. "Why would I?" Breakdown resisted the urge to slap his servo to his faceplates. Not believing that he was even having this conversation, he gestured vaguely to the gun hanging limp from the youngling jet's servo.

The Aerialbot looked down in embarrassment. "Oh yeah, that. Uh, I don't really wanna shoot you...I mean, are you gonna attack me?"

Breakdown took a moment to think over this idea. He had declared for himself that he was no longer a Decepticon. That would make him a neutral, wouldn't it? Neutrals only fought one of the factions if threatened first. If the Autobot wasn't going to attack him, then he really didn't have a reason to harm him, did he?

_Oh, look, reasons for harming people? Ever heard of that one, Motormaster?_

"No, I guess not," he murmured, half in surprise. If someone had told him a week ago that he would be choosing not to attack an Autobot, he would have scoffed at them before hurling himself at them in anger.

The Autobot smiled in relief. "Oh, good. I really didn't want to get into a fight right now. I already had one with my brothers."

Breakdown was faintly interested in this. It was something he could relate to, fighting with his gestalt. And this would be good for him, therapeutic. What was it his book had said?

_Talking with an outsider, a friend or peer about the situation could be helpful in the healing process. Speaking about your pain and experiences not only gets them into the open, but also allows you to come to terms with your situation and begin to move on. Words are one of the most powerful healing devices._

Maybe this Autobot had a use then, after all. Hopefully the entire faction wasn't just a pile of cannon fodder.

"Oh? I thought that the great Autobots could _never_come into conflict with each other." Breakdown transformed and leaned back against the tree he had been resting under, folding his arms behind his helm and looking like the epitome of calm and collected. Fireflight plopped down beside him will a dull thud. The spot was in the middle of nowhere and was far enough from the road that the humans could not see it, tucked away behind a hill as it was.

Fireflight let out a sharp release of air from his vents. "You would think, right? I mean, doesn't fighting with your gestalt, your team, your own _brothers _sound like a Decepticon thing?" The jet quickly noticed his faux pas and said, "No offense, of course."

Breakdown smirked grimly. "None taken, kid, trust me. It's definitely a 'Con thing, I know that firsthand. It's why I left."

The Aerialbot was still stuck on the first part of the statement, and had not yet possessed the second half. "Don't call me a kid; I'm almost the same age as you. Wait a minute, you left? Left what? The Decepticons?"

The Lambo was surprised to find himself smiling at the jet's forgetful antics. It was more than a little amusing, and kind of cute, in an innocent, juvenile way that would have had him eaten alive had he been a Decepticon. Oh, he was most definitely a kid.

"The Decepticons, the war. My brothers. Left them all. I finally got it through my thick helm that what was happening wasn't right. I mean, Motormaster was beating the slag out of me on a daily basis, I was – and still am – terrified of my entire gestalt. I don't trust anybody on my base; there are a few who I don't think will hurt me, but you can never be sure. They're always..._watching_, just waiting for when you let your guard down so they can get you.

"All of it, it was just too much. Things shouldn't be that way, that hurtful. Brothers are supposed to care for one another, right? That's what everyone says, everyone except the Decepticons. Brothers – what does that even mean? I know the definition, male siblings with the same creator, but it's used in so many ways in a non-literal sense. The Decepticons are supposed to be brothers in arms, my gestalt are supposed to be my brothers. Yet not one of those relationships has the same positive connotation that the word holds. There isn't healthy camaraderie. Nobody's joking around. Fights are all too real, and the insults are sparkfelt. It makes one wonder, what kind of brotherhood is this, when the blows are meant and the words are wounds? What kind of brothers hurt each other on purpose, look on each other in hatred? Whatever kind of brotherhood it is, it's nothing I want to be a part of anymore.

"I was never given a choice, did you know that? Me and my gestalt – because surely I can't call them brothers – we were created, and as soon as we onlined our programming told us to state our designations and swear our loyalty to the Decepticons. There was no choice, no time to stop and think. It was placed in our very cores that we were to be Decepticons and fight the Autobots, simply because we were told to. When it came to be my turn to swear my loyalty, I hesitated. I was scared, nervous about this world that I hadn't been given a chance to understand. I still haven't been given that chance. Later, after everybody had sworn loyalty and it was just the gestalt, Motormaster turned on me, yelled at me for even pausing to think about if I wanted to be a Decepticon. He didn't see it as being created without a choice – he still doesn't. In Motormaster's mind, things are the way they are because that's how we were created. We all had been given our set roles in life, and he liked how everything was set, laid out ahead of time so we didn't need to worry ourselves over the politics of it all; we could get straight to the fighting. I think what he liked the most was that it was in his programming to be the leader, and in our programming to acknowledge that and follow him. His favorite thing is being the boss, and the Decepticons let him do that. And they let him handle things amongst the gestalt how he sees fit, even if that includes beating on me daily."

Breakdown was surprised at how..._free _he felt. Never before had he told anyone that, never, and here was the innocent little Autobot hanging on his every word with sympathetic optics. The Lambo wasn't used to having a good listener, and said as much.

"Everyone says you don't shut up, but you're a surprisingly good listener."

Fireflight's faceplates heated with pride. "Really? Thanks! I mean, I know I babble like Blue sometimes, but I think, 'If I talk everyone's audios off all day, I might as well be able to return the favor.' But nobody ever gives me the chance. Thanks, for that. So Motormaster really beat you?" The ex-Decepticon nodded. "I've heard stories, but you know rumors – they're fun and interesting, but you can't trust them as far as you can throw them. Does that even make sense? It's a human saying, but I don't really get it. They have weird little sayings, humans, but they're kind of fun."

He would have continued like that if Breakdown hadn't begun chuckling. "I think that's why I felt okay with talking to you, kid. Besides my self-help book telling me to, I mean. You're young and you act it. None of that faking and pretending you find with everyone else, puffing themselves up like they're the toughest mechs you'll ever meet. It's all a joke, a façade. What I don't get is, why would you _want_to be a warrior who never got a chance to be a youngling? Don't you hate it, how everyone likes to pretend that they have no emotions, that they aren't curious about the world, that they understand everything even if they don't? Who are we trying to impress, the rest of the factions? Our brothers? Ourselves? I think I like that about you kid, how you don't make that effort to be something you're not. You're just...you. It's refreshing."

The Aerialbot couldn't help the beaming grin on his faceplates. To him, Breakdown felt like his first real friend who wasn't one of his brothers. Who knew a 'Con could be so nice? But wait, he'd said he had left them. Could he make his new friend come to the Autobots? He was sure they would take him in. Maybe he could try, but he would have to wait and play his cards right. Right now, he really wanted to know more about something Breakdown had said.

"You were never allowed to be younglings? But, I mean, you all _are _younglings, in a way."

"Don't I know it. They created us as adults, so they expect us to be adults, in all meanings of the word. We may be physically, and maybe even mentally, but emotionally? Pit no. We are so clueless about everything: Earth, Cybertron, Cybertronians as a whole. Relationships with each other and others, who you respect and who you shun, how to tell when you're being messed with, how to make split second decisions. They expect us to get everything right the first time, and they forget that we're still practically younglings at spark, literally, as much as I hate to admit it."

"Wow," Fireflight muttered. "That sucks."

"Excuse me?" Breakdown turned to look at his companion with a raised optical ridge.

"Sorry, it's a phrase I heard some humans use."

Breakdown grunted, but said nothing. The two sat in a companionable silence for a long while, before Breakdown asked a question that had been bothering him since the beginning of their conversation.

"So what were you and your brothers fighting about?"

"They were yelling at me for messing up during flight practice, as always. I tried to say I was sorry, but they just kept on going, telling me that I always mess up, that I can't do anything right. I hate it, how they do that all the time. I swear I think every one of our practices ends that way. Every time, I mess up, and they yell at me, and most times it ends with me leaving and telling them that I'm running away for good. But I always get afraid after I've left. I worry about what I'll do with myself, where I'll go, what I'll eat, and I start to feel less angry with them, and I go back. But Slingshot said that I always give up and I can't follow through on my word, so I decided that this time I'm doing what I always set out to do. I'm not going back this time until those afts come and drag me back themselves."

He gave his speech of sorts with a sense of determination that had nothing juvenile about it. Breakdown felt oddly proud of him for that. Here was another mech, in a way mistreated by his gestalt, who decided to do something about it, even if Fireflight's situation was nowhere near as bad as his own.

"So you're a runaway too, huh?" Breakdown asked, though he knew the answer.

"Yep, I guess so. Though I don't think I've left the Autobots. I don't really want to. They're nice; most times, even verbal sparring gets you in trouble if you aren't careful. Optimus and the rest would never let anyone hurt us out of battle, especially not our own faction." There was an underlying statement there, and they both knew it.

"I thought about it, kid, I really did, but I just can't see myself as an Autobot. The rest of the 'Cons call me a wimp, tell me I'm too soft to be a 'Con, and I think that maybe they're right. If thinking for myself and understanding that violence isn't necessary for everything is being soft, then I think I'd rather be soft on my own than part of something I don't completely believe in with others. But I'm definitely not Autobot material, kid. I'm too angry about things, too quick to violence to protect myself. It's been drummed into me, kid, and I don't think I could change enough to be acceptable to your faction, nor do I really want to change. Plus I can't stand those little squishies you guys are always carrying on about. Those things with their little beady eyes, staring at me...ugh, I hate them."

Fireflight frowned slightly. Humans weren't that bad, were they? Then again, he wasn't paranoid, so maybe he just didn't get it. But still, a lot of Autobots were violent in their own ways. "Some of the Autobots fight a lot. The twins are always roughhousing and the minibots spar with each other a lot."

Breakdown scoffed at that. "I don't think play-fighting counts, kid. When I said quick to violence, I mean that other 'Cons will try to kill you, and you'll try to kill them in defense, or just because you're pissed off. Compared with the rest of the universe, the 'Cons' way of life is pretty twisted. I don't think I could just integrate so easily when it's in my core programming to be a 'Con."

"Oh." Fireflight looked down, saddened optics staring at the grass-covered ground. "I was hoping you might be able to join, 'cause then you could be my friend."

Oh Primus, here were those mushy little feelings that all Decepticons tried to pretend they didn't have. Even though Breakdown had decided he was no longer a Decepticon, he still wasn't so good at all of this friendship-talk, even if the idea was sweet.

"I'm sure you've got plenty of friends, kid."

"Yeah right, they only tolerate me because they need me to make Superion. I overheard some of the officers wondering if they should keep me restricted to base outside of combat because they think I'm a danger to myself and others. And stop calling me kid!"

Breakdown couldn't hold back the laugh that burst forth. "Bonecrusher kept calling me kid; I guess it rubbed off. I don't know, I kind of like it for you. It suits you, like a nickname. I think I'll keep it." Fireflight groaned, but was smiling all the while.

They were silent once more, but the quiet was comfortable and relaxing, forming naturally between the two should-be enemies. It was shattered by the harsh whine and rumble of a series of powerful jet engines racing towards them.

"Well, slag, the cavalry has arrived, as it were. It was nice talking to you, kid." Breakdown began to stand, finding himself somewhat reluctant and remorseful that he had to leave his new "friend," as Fireflight had dubbed their odd "relationship." But his brothers were sure to rip the Lamborghini apart, and Breakdown liked himself completely intact, thank you very much. He had enough instances of his own gestalt ripping into him; he didn't need the Autobots' ever-so-kind assistance in that venture.

"You can't just leave!" Fireflight cried in dismay, standing as well. "Not now! I mean, they won't hurt you, I promise. Just let me talk to them, I'm sure they'll be fine." His voice cracked and he looked at Breakdown with wide, sad optics. "Please. You're the only one who's listened to me before. You're my only real friend. Please, please don't go."

In his CPU, Breakdown was groaning. Oh, come on! This was _not fair_! He was being given a sad, pouty stare from a youngling jet with big, pleading optics and a lower lip that jutted out in misery and by Primus this just wasn't _fair_! How was he supposed to say no when the kid was being so sweet and looking so crestfallen and had been his first real "friend" too? Ugh, why did these things always happen to him?

The Lamborghini threw his head back and stared at the sun for a while, wondering if he could burn his optics out by doing so, before looking back at Fireflight and sighing in defeat as his optics tried to readjust, sending colorful splotches across his vision.

"Fine, but if they start getting growly with me I'm out of here."

Fireflight giggled. "Getting growly with you?"

"Eh, I think it was something Wildrider said once." He sighed in remembrance. Had Wildrider really been that bad? He was insane, that was a sure fact, but he hadn't been enough of a schemer to plan an attack on Breakdown, making him a little more trusted. But he was often unpredictable and violence came so naturally to him he wouldn't notice if he hurt one of his "brothers." Yet still Breakdown noticed how Wildrider shared Fireflight's curious, childish nature, his wonder and enthusiasm for life. Insanity aside, how different were they, really?

He would have pondered this more, but the sound of jets landing and transforming drew him from his mind. And, of course, those sounds were soon followed by weapons powering up.

"Get away from him, Decepticon freak!" shouted one of them – Breakdown didn't care to even check who it was, but at a guess from the voice he would say Air Raid.

"Leave him alone!" Fireflight shouted in reply, stepping forward as if to defend his new friend. Breakdown almost smiled at how futile that small attempt would be if his brothers did try to attack him.

The obvious gestalt leader, Silverbolt if his memory chips were correct, stepped forward, though his expression was taken aback. "Flight," he began. "That is a Decepticon. I don't care what he told you, but he's not your friend."

The "younger" jet looked at him petulantly. "He is my friend, I'll have you know. And he's not a Decepticon – he left them."

One of the jets snorted through his vents; with narrowed optics Breakdown recognized a Harrier jet alt mode, making him Slingshot. "He's a 'Con, Flight. 'Cons lie. A lot. As in, he lied."

"Did not," Breakdown muttered, not caring how childish he sounded.

The Aerialbots only scowled in response.

"What? I didn't. I'm just telling the truth. Primus, you'd think the Autobots would appreciate that, wouldn't you, kid?" He turned to Fireflight as he asked the question; said jet smiled, making his brothers' frowns deepen.

"Fireflight," Silverbolt said in a loud manner that Breakdown supposed he intended to be commanding. "Step away from the Decepticon and come home with us. Whatever he told you was a lie. Let's just go home and forget what happened, okay?"

The Phantom model shook his helm. "No, I'm not going back just because you snapped your fingers."

"Not nearly enough dragging involved." Breakdown shook his head as if this was a shame. Fireflight chuckled softly at his antics.

Slingshot growled and took a step forward. "Flight, come on! He's lying to you – he's not your friend, okay? Now move so we can go home!"

Fireflight raised an optical ridge. "Real enticing there, Sling. Way to show me that you feel sorry for what you did."

The other jets groaned as one. Skydive tried to reason with him. "Fireflight, you know we're sorry. You can feel it over the bond. We're sorry for what we said, and we came out here so we could all go home together."

The young jet's resolve began to crumble at his levelheaded brother's pleading look, but didn't get a chance to reply as the harsh grumble of engines pierced the atmosphere. Four vehicles came over the horizon at speeds that no human machine could reach. The cars were paid no attention by Breakdown, who only had optics for the large tractor-trailer that was heading the group.

"Frag," he whispered. With terrified optics, Breakdown spun on his pede and looked for a place to hide, but the rest of his gestalt were approaching from the way he had come into the area, and the hilly countryside was blocking all other exits for a grounder such as himself. "I gotta get out of here!"

But there was no way for him to leave. He was trapped with his new friend, his friend's brothers who wanted to kill him, and his own "brothers" who wanted his spark on a pike.

He was trapped, and he was going to die.

Before he could move, two of the jets were on him, Air Raid and Slingshot if he guessed correctly. The pair threw him to the ground and stood over him with guns pressed to his helm.

Yep, he was going to die, and they were all going to stare at him while it happened. This was like a scene from his nightmares. Couldn't they offline their optics, at least?

* * *

Motormaster rushed into the small clearing of sorts, his brothers right behind him. It was a good feeling, knowing that you were being backed up. A sense of triumph washed over him as he saw Breakdown; the emotion had probably filtered over the bond from Drag Strip, who was feeling quite smug with himself though he had done no more than his brothers in finding Breakdown.

It was with a bit of unhappiness that he noticed that absolutely petrified look in Breakdown's optics as his helm spun in search of an escape, unconsciously stepping closer to the Aerialbot, Fireflight.

Motormaster growled at that. What the slag were these Autoscum doing near his brother, and why in Primus' name was Breakdown looking to them for fragging _comfort_? Oh, if they were thinking of recruiting one of _his _brothers then they had another thing coming. Motormaster wasn't called a ferocious and possessive slagger for nothing.

All of the Stunticons threw themselves forward when two of the Aerialbots hit Breakdown to the ground and aimed their weapons on him. This was not acceptable at all. And why in the slag wasn't Breakdown fighting back? He just laid there, looking up at the Autobots with terror-filled optics as if he had already given up hope.

Motormaster glared at the mechs holding down his brother and let out a truly furious snarl that shook all present.

* * *

Breakdown shuddered in fear when Motormaster roared in anger. Oh great, he was angry, it always hurt more when he was angry. The Lamborghini curled up and awaited his end before he froze.

What was he doing? Had he not decided to no longer play the victim? Why was he cowering in fear when he had decided to fight back?

With a growl of his own Breakdown swiped away one of the guns, sending it a good ten yards away. He quickly rolled out of the other weapon's aim and jumped to a standing position, sidestepping the jet as it tried to turn to get a fix on him again.

He never noticed the looks of pride in his brothers' optics.

Wildrider cackled in glee as his brother showed up the Autobots. When Breakdown was under no real threat any longer he called to his brother, "Come on, Breaks, let's get out of here!" He had meant it in all innocence, and had naively assumed that his brother would just come with them.

"Yeah, Decepticon, go running back to the rest," sneered Slingshot.

Breakdown's optics narrowed to slits in his anger, once again unconsciously moving closer to Fireflight as if he would protect him. He'd had enough.

"Listen up you fraggers, 'cause I ain't saying it again!" Primus, why did he sound like Bonecrusher when he was kicking aft and taking names? "I am not trying to hurt Fireflight, nor is he trying to hurt me. We were talking, shocking as that might be for illiterate slaggers such as yourselves who can't contemplate any sort of interaction with the "enemy" past injuring one another. I am here because I have left the Decepticons, and I just want to be left the slag alone, got it? All of you, just leave me alone!"

Fireflight shot him a look, and he muttered quietly to him, "You know what I mean, kid." The jet gave him a relieved smile.

Wildrider had a hurt look in his optics. Breakdown left the 'Cons? He couldn't do that, because they were Decepticons, and that would mean that he had left them, which he couldn't do because 'Rider couldn't be whole without all of his brothers, couldn't think straight. Things in his mind got hectic without all of his brothers there to make it better, and he wanted Breakdown's paranoid, soothing little presence back in his CPU _right now_, slaggit!

"Breaks," he said in a somewhat delirious manner. "You're kidding right? I mean, you don't have to be a Decepticon, but you're still a Stunticon, of course. Right?"

Breakdown found that he couldn't look the other in the optic as he made his declaration.

"No. I'm not a Stunticon. I'm not one of you, not after what you've done to me. I am not going to be a victim to any of you any longer."

* * *

**I felt bad being mean to Wildrider, he is one of my favorites. Ah well, things will be better for him soon. Only about a chapter left, maybe an epilogue. Please review!**


	5. And Brothers Too

**Here we are at the final full chapter. I was floundering in the beginning, unsure how things should go, but I like the ending a lot. There will be an epilogue after this, because I do feel that some things need more wrapping up. The epilogue will be short, and if I'm a good girl it will be out within the next week. And the lyrics shall be back for the epilogue! Oh, stop your group-groan, you'll survive. Hope you enjoy the chapter!**

_**Dreamer**_**: Aw, that's sweet of you. Here's that update!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here. **

* * *

There was utter silence for a very long moment, before a loud keening pierced the air. Breakdown twisted his helm to see Wildrider fall to his knees as if he was in pain. His optics swiftly scanned his brother's – the other's form, but could find no actual injury to his frame.

But he could feel the emotional pain even through his blocked bond. Like a torrent of misery and shock, the emotions swept against his block like a tsunami on a plaster wall. A plaster wall that shook and quaked and allowed some feelings to seep through it, but unlike its corporeal counterpart held strong and did not buckle or crack.

Breakdown wasn't sure if he was relieved by this or not.

He did his best to ignore the sensation of Wildrider desperately clawing at his wall, trying to force his way into the Lambo's mind.

The Stunticons' bond was reeling with emotions from the entire gestalt, or at least those of the gestalt that was acknowledging the bond. Shock and horror came from every member of the team, perhaps even Motormaster, though he insisted to himself that he only felt those things because his brothers were feeling them and he had the bond open. Motormaster felt his infamous temper rising, but he did his best to subdue it, which was a feat in itself. He only did so because he wasn't even sure who he was angry with at the moment, and he had been told multiple times by his brothers that it was...upsetting.

Breakdown pretended that he wasn't upset with the shriek his ex-gestaltmate was letting out, pretended that he wasn't affected by Wildrider's shriek of pain and loneliness.

"You don't mean that!" Wildrider screamed. Breakdown turned his back on them, refusing to watch as the insane mech broke down. Drag Strip tried to comfort him, but it seemed that Wildrider was falling apart at the seams.

The Lamborghini offlined his optics, both to keep from having to watch everybody who was watching him and to pretend that he wasn't breaking someone's spark – a spark that he did not know could be broken, least of all by him.

"I mean it," he whispered, and somehow Wildrider heard him over his own screams, because he shot to a stand and lurched forward, arms outstretched, as if to grab Breakdown.

"You can't go. You can't leave me, us. You can't!"

Breakdown kept his optics offlined, grimacing in pain as he spoke. He hadn't expected this to be as hard as it was. "I can and I am."

"No!" the insane one called. "I won't let you!"

He lunged forward, and Breakdown only had time to online his optics to see the other tackling him to the ground.

His resolve fled faster than a seeker from a battle. Here he was pinned to the ground under one of his brothers, and there was nothing he could do about it. This was it; they were going to kill him. They were going to pound him into little bits and he was going to die. And slag it all to the pit, they were going to let the fragging Autobots watch while they did.

Once again Breakdown offlined his optics and awaited his deactivation.

What he didn't expect was to feel a helm nuzzling his chestplates. Was Wildrider...purring? Yes, that was an engine rumbling in an almost soothing manner while the crazy mech pressed his faceplates into the crook of Breakdown's neck cables.

"Never gonna let you go," he murmured in contentment.

What was this? Where was the anger, the injuries?

An engine rumbled in a growl and a large pede stepped forward, shaking the earth underneath it.

Ah, there it was. Leave it to Motormaster to deliver when it comes to pain.

Unknowingly, the Lamborghini whimpered in fear. He just couldn't bring himself to recall his strength that he had shown when speaking back to his brothers and the Autobots. His kick-aft attitude was gone for good, it seemed.

Unbeknownst to Breakdown, Fireflight came forward, intending to pull Wildrider away from the Lambo only to be stopped by Silverbolt's servo on his shoulder. "I don't think they're hurting him, 'Flight," the leader said, knowing that his brother feared for the safety of his supposed friend. He gestured at the purring Wildrider who was hugging the life out of Breakdown, who was still cowering in fear.

Motormaster only had optics for the two Aerialbots still standing near Breakdown. He didn't at all understand why Breakdown would be cowering from Wildrider, who at the moment was acting like an overgrown metallic feline, so he assumed it was due to the close proximity of the Autobots and set out to rectify it.

He growled menacingly at the pair of Autobots, relishing how they jumped in surprise. "Ready to die?" he asked, smiling maliciously. He didn't expect Breakdown would jolt the way he did, effectively dislodging Wildrider as he furtively tried to roll away from the sound of Motormaster's voice.

The Stunticon leader frowned and stepped toward Breakdown. "What the slag is up with you?"

The Lamborghini was desperately trying to stand and move away from Motormaster, but Wildrider was clinging to his legs and trying to climb his way back up Breakdown's body so he could continue laying on him.

"Leave me alone!" Breakdown cried in fear. "I am not going to just sit here and let you kill me!"

Motormaster paused. What? He wasn't going to kill Breakdown – where had that idea come from? "What makes you think I'm trying to kill you?"

The Lambo's freshly onlined optics were wide with a kind of feral fear found in wild animals when cornered by a human. "You're all trying to kill me, every one of you! That's why I left; I'm not going to let any of you hurt me anymore, and I'm not going to idly sit by and let you kill me!"

Dead End's helm cocked to the side in interest. "We never hurt you, Breakdown."

Breakdown only shook his helm vigorously, as if trying to shake something from his CPU. "No, no, no, you're all trying to kill me, all the time. You hit me because you hate me, you want me dead, only kept me around to make Menasor. You all want me dead, but I won't let you, I won't let you do it. Left because I don't want to die, don't want to let you kill me, not gonna let you kill me."

Never before had Breakdown's brothers seen one of the Lamborghini's episodes get this bad. Sure they had seen him "break down" before, but that didn't usually last long, because they would snap him out of it by...smacking him around.

Oh, Primus, no wonder the poor mech was terrified of them all. Sure Motormaster was the one who actually beat him, but when he had a panic attack their usual response was to slap the back of his helm as hard as they could, hard enough to leave a dent, so he would come back to reality. But after being victim to Motormaster's rampages for so long, he attributed any form of violence from his brothers to their supposed hatred of him and assumed that they too were beating him and wanted him dead.

He couldn't have been farther from the truth.

Dead End tried again. "We – we never meant to actually harm you, per se, though it may have seemed like it at times when we were trying to keep you from having one of your episodes."

Slingshot snorted loudly at this, but was silenced by a murderous glare from Motormaster. "Enough, Autoscum. Take your brat and leave while I'm still feeling benevolent. You're lucky that Breakdown seems to like him and I haven't yet had the chance to remind him of all of the reasons why to hate Autobots. So get out of here before I rip you all apart with my bare servos, and when I see you next I promise that I will follow through on that threat with excruciating detail."

Silverbolt, for one, was not expecting that _at all_. In fact, it went against everything he had ever learned about Decepticons, the Stunticons especially. They were supposed to be cruel and sparkless murderers, and yet here Motormaster was, allowing them to leave relatively unscathed – physically they weren't harmed, though it looked like Slingshot's pride may have taken a blow.

Otherwise, though, the Decepticons seemed to be rather distracted from their usual objective of "must tear apart all Autobots on sight." The only ones paying them any attention at the moment were Motormaster and Drag Strip, both of whom were glaring at them but making no move to attack unless provoked. And looking through the bond on Fireflight's time with Breakdown, it was all surprisingly calm, almost friendly. It was true; there had been nothing violent about the exchange.

Primus, when Optimus Prime heard about this he would either break down sobbing in tears of joy or do some sort of happy dance. An Autobot and a Decepticon having a non-violent discussion. It was something no one would have foreseen.

Fireflight didn't pay attention to Silverbolt's musings or his brothers' not-so-subtle suggestions across the bond that they leave. No, he was still worried about his new friend. It seemed that, at least at the current time, it was impossible to bring Breakdown to the Autobot side. But that didn't mean that he was going to abandon his friend with his abusers.

"I'm not just going to leave until I know Breakdown's okay," the young jet proclaimed nobly, fisting his servos and taking a step forward. It would have been a menacing pose had Motormaster not towered over him. The Stunticon leader only raised an optic ridge.

Motormaster stared at the Phantom jet for a long, silent moment only pierced by Breakdown's shuddering sobs as he tried to calm himself while keeping out of reach of Wildrider and Dead End. Finally, the fearsome leader spoke in an uncharacteristically quiet manner.

"This is a Stunticon matter. It does not concern you, and I am _kindly_ asking you and your..._brethren_ to leave now, as I am not usually this _congenial_."

Bravely, Fireflight held his ground and glared defiantly up at the Decepticon. "Not until I know that Breakdown will be alright."

The Stunticon leader frowned slightly, at a loss as to how he should remove the little jet from his presence without further upsetting Breakdown, who not only seemed to be fearsome of his entire gestalt at the moment, but was also regrettably _attached_ to the spacey Autobot in some way.

"Breakdown will be fine with us. I assure you that no wrongful harm shall befall him." Primus, it seemed that Dead End was rubbing off on him, what with all of his big words and sophisticated speech pattern. Why hadn't he told anyone to eat his slag yet?

Fireflight did not seem to notice his out-of-the-norm dialogue, as he continued to glare at the Stunticon reproachfully. "Yeah, like I should trust you not to hurt him, after all that you've done."

Motormaster bristled. Oh, this runt had better learn to hold his glossa and fast, because he was finding that the expiration date for his kindly offer seemed to be approaching faster than originally predicted. "Things change, brat. You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh yeah? Because I think I'm talking about you almost killing Breakdown."

That was it. That Autobot was as good as dead.

Motormaster lunged at the Aerialbot, elbow plating first, and hit him to the ground. He onlined a cannon and was about to blow a hole in Fireflight's abdominal plating when a scream was wrenched, not from an Autobot, but from Breakdown.

The Lamborghini was still skittering out of Wildrider's desperate and somewhat obsessive reach and ignoring Dead End's pleas for calm, but had taken notice of Motormaster's assault on Fireflight and was more than upset by it.

'Flight hadn't done anything wrong. In fact, he had tried to protect Breakdown, something that had never happened to him before. He had never had somebody care about his wellbeing. Well, maybe the Constructicons did, or maybe they were just sick of having to repair him, but he knew for a fact that there was nothing in it for the youngest Aerialbot to protect him, as pitiful as that notion was when it came to the jet against Motormaster. But if Fireflight was willing to stand up to Motormaster for him, then he could do the same for the jet in return.

What was that quip from his book?

_Like deserves like is a well-known phrase that we would like to warn you about. During your healing process you may feel the need to lash out at others to make them feel the pain that you have felt. _

_Don't. Not only is that lowering yourself to the level of your abuser and restarting the cycle of abuse, but it only feeds that rage inside of you._

_You need to let go of that rage and hurt inside of you, all of those negative feelings, and in a way, forgive your abuser for what they have done. You don't need to continue any form of a relationship with them if that is not to your liking, and it is suggested that if you do remain in contact with your abuser in any way that you have a chaperone present at all times, but you need to release all of your negative feelings and allow the good to come in, for only then can you heal. _

_We want you to be able to metaphorically look your abuser in the face and tell them that you are not going to be their victim any longer, but you forgive them for what they have done to you. Once your pain and hurt has gone, the true healing can begin, and you can reconstruct your life._

_However, "like deserves like" is a helpful statement when it comes to friends. If someone has helped or is helping you to overcome your trauma, you can use the phrase positively and help your friend with a situation of their own, even if that situation seems to dim in comparison to your own. Every bit of kindness is always appreciated, and helping another can help you let go of your own pain._

In a way it was telling him that because Fireflight helped him, he should help 'Flight. Eh, it may have said something about only "metaphorically" standing up to your abuser, and it didn't even actually say to stand up to your abuser, but weren't these books supposed to be open to interpretation or something? And what he had interpreted was that he needed to help Fireflight by standing up to Motormaster.

"Leave him alone!" he shrieked at his ex-leader. He paused for a partial moment, surprised at his own shout, and then continued, invigorated and ready for anything. "Slaggit, he's just trying to look out for me, you fragger! That's more than you've ever done!"

Motormaster stilled in his place, looming above the Autobot, and turned a slow helm towards Breakdown. "What did you say?"

Of all the things, Breakdown was accusing him of _not_ looking out for him? Motormaster may have beaten his own brothers, but he did _not_ let anyone else have that privilege. If anyone so much as looked at one of his brothers the wrong way, he was sure to have them in Hook's tender care within the joor. So what was this, not protecting his brothers?

"I – I said that you never did anything for me!"

Motormaster removed his pede from where it had been crushing Fireflight's neck cables and took a step towards Breakdown. "Never did anything for you? What about all of those times you got in trouble with other 'Cons and I had to come bail you out? Did I let them touch you? Did I let them hurt you?"

"No, but then _you _hurt me! After every instance, you would throw me into a wall or something and tell me that it was my fault in the first place! Primus, one time those runts of Soundwave's kept following me with cameras, and you know how I feel about being recorded, and while I was trying to get away I accidentally ran into Octane, and yeah he got fragged off and yeah you came to my 'rescue,' but then you proceeded to turn me into scrap, like it was my fault in the first place! I didn't choose to be a paranoid glitch! Yeah, I know what you all say about me, what you call me. Why do you think I'm paranoid about what people say about me, hmm? I know what they say – I hear it all. Paranoia always has roots in reality, you know."

That wasn't something Motormaster had been prepared for. He had come after Breakdown expecting to have to rummage up some sort of apology and a promise of change similar to what had placated his other brothers. He hadn't expected to feel this terrible, crushing guilt for what he had done to Breakdown.

But the Lamborghini was right. Not only had he harmed and insulted him to his face, but he would often insult him when sitting at the officers' table in the rec room. He stopped others from physically touching his brothers, but never did anything to stop the verbal insults. Pit, he helped and encouraged it half of the time!

He had cruelly commented on how he knew for a fact that Drag Strip's need to succeed at everything was to cover up his critically low self-esteem. Primus, he had actually announced that one to the entire ship! Granted it had been at a party and high-grade had been involved, but he had seen the way Drag Strip's optics widened, how the other 'Cons had laughed and pointed at him and how he had run from the room, Dead End trailing after him with an actual look of concern.

Primus, Dead End. Why was it that the fatalist was left cleaning up all of Motormaster's messes? One would think that someone so sure of his own demise would be completely detached from society, and yet there was 'End, constantly playing internal affairs representative and morale booster for the rest of the Stunticons because of Motormaster's behavior and maltreatment. And wasn't that irony a bitter thing to swallow. But Motormaster had mocked the other openly, even while he was in the room, insulting his depressed attitude and his obsession with being well-polished, even when he knew that there was so much more to his brother, if he would only open his bond and see it.

And what of Wildrider? Yes, he was certifiably insane, but he should have been standing up for his nutcase of a brother when others started laughing at him instead of laughing with them at his brother's expense. Wildrider may have been crazy, but he realized when he was being made fun of. Occasionally he would attack the ones who insulted him, but then that would just be used as further "evidence" of his "condition," so after a while Wildrider had given up and opted to hiding in the safety of his head, where it didn't matter what anyone said about him on the outside, because his little world was all that mattered to him. Motormaster had known he was regressing, but had done nothing to stop it, even when he heard his other brothers talking in hushed whispers about it, fearful that they might lose him completely to his own insanity.

Breakdown. They all knew that Breakdown took the brunt of his aggression. The others were usually able to slip away before Motormaster could get to them, but Breakdown was just so loyal that he would stay in place and allow whatever came. He even came when Motormaster called him, looking for a punching bag, though he knew what he was being called for. Dead End might have been the fatalist, but if he didn't know better he would have said that Breakdown was the one with a death wish.

But Motormaster hadn't known that Breakdown knew about the insults. Well, obviously he knew about the ones said to his face, but he should have known that no truly paranoid mech wouldn't know what was going on around them. Breakdown had an almost enhanced sense of hearing; of course he would have heard what others said, what Motormaster said.

He was weak, paranoid, pathetic, crazy, useless, good-for-nothing, cannon fodder, worthless, unnecessary, unwanted, boring; the list went on and on, and Motormaster had contributed to it instead of stopping it. He hadn't done right by Breakdown, not in the least, no matter what he had tricked himself into believing.

For the first time in his relatively short life, Motormaster placed a small tally mark on his "Reasons Why I'm Not a Good Leader" board. It pained him to do so, but it had to be done.

Drag Strip's voice drifted over the bond. _Hey, uh, Boss? You're kind of freezing up here, and it looks really weird. I mean, it's great that you're having all of these, uh...what'd you call 'em, End?_

_Introspective revelations, _Dead End supplied.

_Yeah, these "introspective revelations" and all, but maybe now's not the best time, 'cause the Autobots look real pissed about you tackling Fireflight – that's the little jet, and don't tell me that you knew that because we all know that you didn't. Anyways, they look upset and Breakdown is still waiting for an answer while trying to look for a way to escape, and he would've gotten out of here by now if Wildrider wasn't manically trying to hug him._

Motormaster took a trip back to the real world to see a sight that, had it been for a different reason, would have been pretty funny: Wildrider was indeed following Breakdown around, arms outstretched with his optics much too bright, desperately trying to capture the Lamborghini in his embrace. Breakdown, for what it was worth, was doing his best to hide from Wildrider, but Drag Strip was purposely standing in the way of the only exit from the clearing.

All the while, Breakdown's optics were frozen on Motormaster, guardedly awaiting a response.

And it was a response for the history books.

Breakdown watched nervously as Motormaster came out of his seemingly thoughtful stupor and turned his gaze on him. He could the tractor-trailer mouthing something, but couldn't make out the words. In his need to understand he stopped moving, unwittingly allowing Wildrider to grab him in a tight embrace.

"Mine," he growled with a pleased smile, nuzzling Breakdown's helm. Breakdown did his best to ignore Wildrider's proximity and how easily the Ferrari could kill him for the time being and instead tried to focus on what Motormaster was saying.

"What?" His optics narrowed in confusion. "I can't hear you." Okay, maybe using such a blasé tone on a mech who wanted to kill you wasn't the best idea...

Motormaster spoke again, and Breakdown realized that no, his audios weren't malfunctioning, Motormaster was just mumbling. That was odd, because Motormaster was a notoriously loud mech who didn't care who heard him do what.

It seemed as if Motormaster expelled air from his vents, and he murmured once again with downcast optics words that Breakdown recorded, because he never thought he would hear them and he probably wouldn't again.

"I said that I'm sorry."

Nothing could have prepared Breakdown for that. His book had said to be on guard for apologies, because they often were empty and the abuse would continue, but this was _Motormaster_. Not once in his life had Breakdown heard Motormaster apologize to anyone for anything. Even when being chastised by Megatron, the Stunticon leader would promise to do better in the future, but would never apologize for his or his team's wrongdoings. That was because Motormaster was simply incapable of apologizing.

So if Motormaster was incapable of apologizing, then what was this? His paranoia supplied a helpful answer.

If Motormaster couldn't apologize and mean it, then obviously this wasn't a real apology, but a trick, a rouse of some kind. His optics narrowed further, this time in disgust.

"You're sorry? You really think I'm stupid enough to believe that? You're never sorry, ever! You would never apologize to me, and even if you meant it, you would just hurt me again later!"

"He promised this time, Breaks," Wildrider whispered in his audio, too close for comfort. "He promised that he would be better."

"And he lied. He lies all the time. After all, isn't that what _Decepticons_ do?" Breakdown snarled the faction name like a curse, and he felt Wildrider flinch at the obvious refusal of their heritage, of them.

"Yes, but he's telling the truth this time. We can all vouch for him." Breakdown looked in shock at Dead End. Nobody could coerce Dead End into saying anything, because he simply didn't care what was done to him; so why was Dead End trying to push him to accept Motormaster's fake apology? _Unless_, this was all just some big conspiracy...

"It's not a conspiracy." Dead End cut into his thoughts before he could continue with them. "It's for real this time. He opened the bond."

_He opened the bond._

Those were words Breakdown never thought he would hear, right up there with Motormaster apologizing. It was just something that _wasn't done_. Ever since onlining, Motormaster had kept his side of the bond as closed as he could without harming himself.

Drag Strip nodded to confirm Dead End's statement. "It's wide open, Breaks."

"Now we just need you back in our heads and we can be a family," Wildrider murmured contentedly.

The Aerialbots, who had long since pulled Fireflight back into their ranks, were in awe at what they were seeing, and more than one of them had started recording the events, because nobody would believe them without video and audio evidence. It was almost...sweet, if Decepticons _could_ be sweet. But now, it almost felt like they were intruding, but Fireflight was adamant that they weren't leaving until he was sure that Breakdown would be in good hands.

Breakdown himself was at a loss. Should he risk opening the bond? They could try to flood his processors with viruses...wait, that would harm them, too, having viruses in the bond. There was his glitch again, running away with him.

Throughout the entire ordeal, he had been doing his best to look back on the past without his glitch's influence, and was finding that he had no specific memory of being beaten by any of his brothers other than Motormaster. At first he just believed that it was because it happened so often that, like with Motormaster, the beatings all started to bleed together, but after a while of searching his memory banks he had started to wonder if maybe his other brothers hadn't actually harmed him except for when trying to pull him from his "episodes," and then he kind of deserved and needed it. But now, seeing how they were behaving, he started to believe that maybe abuse on their part had just been imagined up by his glitch.

But still, could he trust them?

"Yes," Wildrider whispered, and Breakdown was shocked and maybe a little horrified to find that the word was a response both to his silently posed question and his apparent actions: while he had been worrying over what to do, apparently his subconscious had already made its decision, as his block over the bond had started to slip, allowing his thought to slide through the gap. He was about to slam his blocks back in place, but paused.

Would it be so bad just to take a peek? Just to see if they were telling the truth, of course.

Breakdown carefully peeked into the bond, not letting his block fall completely, but not totally barring his brothers. He was floored by the emotions that hit him.

Joy, elation, relief, comfort, encouragement, remorse, and most of all, love, coming from every one of them, including Motormaster.

The Lamborghini took a moment to check that, yes, he was accessing the _Stunticon_ bond and finding these things. Hey, you never know, maybe he had somehow hacked someone else's bond. That would explain all of the uncharacteristic feelings.

He was especially surprised at the area of the bond that was usually devoted to housing Motormaster's permanent block. Instead of an impenetrable wall, he found an actual, living presence, one that belonged to none other than Motormaster himself.

And the presence was sorry.

That certainly threw him for a loop. Motormaster was honest-to-Primus sorry for what he had done, and was trying to change. Breakdown wouldn't have believed it if he didn't know for a fact that it was impossible to lie over the bond. The bond laid every bit of you bare for all to see, and it was showing him that Motormaster was sorry for what he had done, and on some level, cared for his brothers. It might not have been love, necessarily, but it was somewhat familial and it was passed a normal relationship between a leader and follower, so it would do for now.

Fireflight had moved towards Breakdown despite Wildrider's hissing like a feline, and was looking to his friend for any sort of reaction or response. "Hey, are you okay?"

Breakdown snapped out of the bond, which brought a keen of unhappiness from Wildrider, but let the bond stay open a bit. He looked to Fireflight and nodded. "Yeah, I think I will be." Fireflight wouldn't have believed it if it weren't for the odd look of contentment in Breakdown's optics, and though he didn't really want to leave, he allowed his brothers to drag him away towards home, sending one last glance at his new, possibly one-time friend before transforming and flying into the distance.

Once his friend was gone, Breakdown allowed his block to crumble and was filled with his brothers' emotions and presences. Wildrider, both in the bond and real life, curled around him happily, and Drag Strip and Dead End didn't take long to follow. They were shocked and appalled to find out the real reason why Breakdown would disappear for days on end, and Motormaster himself was a little upset to find that the disappearances were brought on by fear rather than a need to regain his dignity, as he had previously believed.

Motormaster. He had yet to join what Wildrider was referring to as a "cuddle pile," instead choosing to stand a good couple of yards away, as if he was an intruder on this moment. He didn't trust himself near Breakdown, not after experiencing the beatings from the Lamborghini's point of view over the bond. Breakdown had believed every harsh word he had ever aimed at him, had felt that he deserved every punch and kick that was laid into him, and Motormaster wasn't sure that he could forgive himself for that. It was just, he got so _frustrated _and Breakdown would always come running if he called...

_Motormaster_, a voice whispered over the bond. The Stunticon in question became still. He didn't recognize this voice, and it took him a moment to realize that it was Breakdown.

_Yes?_

_I can't really say that I forgive you, I'm not sure that I can..._

The largest Stunticon would have cringed, except the King of the Road doesn't cringe. It's unsightly and unbecoming.

_...but I'm willing to try, if you really mean that you'll at least attempt to change. And a real attempt, not some half-aft thing so you can go back to your old ways._

_How did you...? Oh, the bond._

_Actually, my glitch. Comes up with all sorts of things, I've gotta tell ya._

Motormaster reeled at the chuckle and easy banter that came from Breakdown. He had never seen this, this side of the Lamborghini that wasn't cowering in fear or looking for protection. It wasn't just that he hadn't been paying attention, as he was sure Drag Strip would repeat for him many times in the future as he continued learning about his brothers.

No, something had changed in the paranoid Lambo since he had last seen him. He was more confident and self-assured, willing to stand up for himself. He was brave and would look them all in the optics without fear. He seemed almost...free.

_Yep, free as a bird. Now get over here, Wildrider wants you with us._

It was partially true, and they all knew it. But it didn't matter if Breakdown wasn't willing to say what he meant. And as Motormaster came to join what he would never admit was a cuddle pile, he knew what thought was going through all of their processors that made that unwillingness to speak their feelings okay:

They were brothers, yes, and they were a family, but nobody said they had to be Autobots about it.

* * *

**Yes, yes, sap abounds here. I should start a business making syrup. Hope it wasn't too OOC for you. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to scream at me for how mushy it was? Then do so in a review!**


	6. But In the End

**Well, this might not be short, but it's shorter than usual. And due to an idea given to me by a reviewer, there will be a bonus-chapter one-shot of sorts posted after this detailing things on the Aerialbots side of things. I hope you don't mind too much! A lot of people asked about a sequel, and I just have too many things going on to write one, but if someone else wanted to, just ask me and I'll most likely allow you to. If the lyrics are funky, it's the site's formatting; it's crazy.**

_**Liz**_**: Mm, how could I have forgotten pudding? No sequel, I just don't have time for one, but I hope this will do! Thanks for the review!**

_**Dreamer**_**: You have just inspired a bonus-chapter. Be proud! And thanks for reviewing!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here. The lyrics to "Shed Some Light" belong to Shinedown.**

* * *

"_**I'm falling apart again  
And I can't find a way to make amends  
And I'm looking in both directions  
But it's make believe, it's all pretend**_

**_So..._**  
**_Shed some light on me_**  
**_And hold me up in disbelief_**  
**_And shed some light on me_**  
**_And tell me something that I'll believe in"_**

_~ "Shed Some Light" - Shinedown_

Motormaster sat in the exceedingly boring officers' meeting, slumped over the table with one servo supporting his helm, not even attempting to look like he was interested in whatever experiment Shockwave was explaining to Megatron over a video-com. He wasn't the only one. Onslaught was counting ceiling tiles for what had to have been the fifty-seventh time and Scrapper was scratching design plans into the table's surface. Even Soundwave was showing some form of boredom – his optical band had long glazed over and he was most likely looking in on his cassettes over their bond, if the occasional nod-like cant of his helm meant anything.

Of course, these were the people Motormaster was supposed to look to as examples of a proper team leader, and so apparently showing your boredom in a meeting was acceptable. Thus, he couldn't really be blamed for looking like he was falling into recharge on the table. Pit, Starscream looked the same way! The seeker probably would have passed out by now if he hadn't amused himself by mocking Shockwave and Megatron's conversation behind their backs, rolling his optics, mouthing their words, and moving his servos in a way that was actually fairly amusing. Immature, maybe, but it was better than trying to understand whatever Shockwave was saying.

_True that. Do you think Megatron actually understands a word he's saying?_

_Nah, 'Strip, he's just nodding like he does. The great Megatron can't be caught not knowing something, now could he? It would totally ruin his image._

_For once, Wildrider, I think I agree with your deduction. Megatron is far too obsessed with his own image to actually let someone know if he did not comprehend something they said._

_Primus forbid the great Megatron admit that he's a normal mech like the rest of us. One of the reasons I wanted to leave this faction in the first place._

_But you came back, 'cause you love us!_

_Yes Wildrider, that was it. It had nothing to do with the fact that you wouldn't leave me alone._

_Eh, doesn't matter. You came back, didn't you?_

Yes, he had come back, and Motormaster found at times like these that he was eternally grateful for that. If Breakdown hadn't come back, if he hadn't left in the first place, Motormaster would never have found so many little things about his life that he hadn't known were severely lacking in the past. Such as how much more interesting it was to have his brothers in his CPU, especially to alleviate boredom.

He found that the constant commentary was not only amusing, but also helped his brothers learn to trust him. Wildrider had been doing so much better since the bond had been opened by all of the Stunticons – in the seven months that had passed since the events of Breakdown's little "escapade," Wildrider had experienced only a handful of episodes, and none of them were serious enough to necessitate a trip to the medbay. In fact, none of the Stunticons had gone to the medbay for non-battle related injuries, barring a few visits by Drag Strip and Wildrider, and those were only to fix up a couple of dings and dents that incurred during sparring matches.

_Motor, stop thinking so loud! _Wildrider called out. _Something interesting is happening. Turn your helm to the right some more. I either just saw Megatron grab Screamer's throat, or a unicorn waving at you._

_Mm, it was definitely the unicorn,_ Breakdown told him, even as Motormaster turned to see Megatron holding Starscream by his neck cables.

_What a sad looking unicorn,_ Drag Strip added. They had all started feeling sorry for Starscream after the "events" of seven months passed. After understanding just how much abuse messed with one's mind, they started to wonder how affected Starscream was by Megatron's constant bullying and abuse.

Megatron; they weren't so sure how they felt about him anymore. Breakdown hated him, and only followed him because his brothers did. Wildrider and Drag Strip didn't care about him either way, and like Breakdown followed him to stick together with their brothers. Dead End found that he didn't agree with everything Megatron did, but he wasn't necessarily keen on joining the Autobots either – as Breakdown had told Fireflight, they weren't exactly Autobot material, and they really couldn't change that.

As for Motormaster, well, he was the one whose decision really mattered in the end. His brothers had actually begun to respect him, and not just because he had scared them into it; they actually chose to respect him now, maybe because he had followed through on his vow to change. It had been hard, and there were a lot of times when he found himself _this close_ to giving up and beating the slag out of one of them, but he had barely restrained himself, and somehow that had garnered their respect.

So now here he was, the decision-maker. They wouldn't leave the Decepticons until he said the word; they would follow wherever he led. And while he, like Dead End, just couldn't imagine the Stunticons as Autobots, he did find that he had begun to distance himself from Megatron – not that the tyrannical warlord noticed.

He had taken to watching how Scrapper and Onslaught led their own gestalts, and with his team's input always in his mind, he started to realize how maybe corporeal punishment, though favored by the Slag-Maker, was not the most appreciated technique, and in fact not the method of choice for anyone other than Megatron.

Scrapper and his gestalt didn't have many issues amongst themselves, considering that they had been around before the war and had long since worked out any interpersonal problems. Though they had been created separately and formed into a gestalt by choice later in life, they were all that one could expect of an experienced, well-functioning gestalt, and when Scrapper needed to discipline them it was, as he had told Breakdown, with menial tasks and extra work, never with an actual physical injury. Motormaster was proud to report that he had stopped receiving dirty looks from the Constructicons about three months ago, though they still watched him guardedly at times when his temper flared.

Onslaught was more hands-off when dealing with the Combaticons. He let Brawl get into whatever fights he wanted, but also made him deal with the consequences of his actions. Swindle was allowed to run whatever scams he wanted, but also had to weasel his way out of the problems his "business" brought him on his own. And Vortex – well, Vortex was definitely more like Wildrider than anyone cared to admit, and a little too energon-thirsty to be healthy. Motormaster had been surprised to see how Onslaught almost encouraged him away from his designated duty as an "interrogator," instead trying to get him into other hobbies.

As for Blast Off, well, he was like the Dead End of the group, the smart, sarcastic one who the leader didn't need to pay too much attention to. Motormaster remembered the look he and Onslaught had shared when they had found Blast Off and Dead End sitting at a table in the corner of the rec room, high-grade in servo, having a cynical running commentary on every mech in the room. It had been an..._odd_ experience, to say the least.

But Onslaught did come to his brothers' rescue when truly necessary, though he would berate them afterwards for their own stupidity. He was harsher than Scrapper, more likely to deliver a slap to the back of the helm, but that was the only sort of injury he would issue them, if one didn't count his verbal barbs as injuries.

Even Soundwave's form of leadership when it came to his cassettes was a little insightful. Granted, his cassettes were technically his creations, but they were in a case similar to the younger gestalts in that they were created battle-ready, with quick developing processors to allow for covert missions and a barely noticeable physical growth period, but emotional states that were still those of sparklings.

While Soundwave's creations were noticeably more tactile than the Stunticons, Motormaster had noticed that Wildrider, on occasion, behaved in a way that was strangely akin to Ravage. Both liked to rub up against others and nuzzle them, and both tended to purr when content. In fact, Wildrider hissed like a feline when someone upset him, like when they mentioned to him that he acted like a cat.

But the TIC was effective when it came to dealing with those infernal twins of his, and the way he passive-aggressively dealt with them was something Motormaster had been trying to replicate with his team.

_Boss, how many times do you need me to tell you that you aren't paying attention? _Drag Strip asked. Motormaster growled lightly at him with no real malice and turned his processors toward what was occurring in the meeting room.

Megatron had Starscream pinned up against a wall by his neck cables and was hissing at him. Motormaster couldn't hear all of it, but it sounded like the norm, a bunch of insults interspersed with shouts of "Traitor!" and "Fool!" So really, just a normal meeting.

_He's not even fighting back?_ Breakdown asked disappointedly, not because he wanted to see a fight, but since his own decision to stand up for himself he seemed to be set on empowering others to stand up to abuse. It was one of the main things he had spoken about with Fireflight in the beginning of their correspondence.

Fireflight and Breakdown still met at least twice a month; that was something Breakdown was adamant about when returning to the Decepticons with his brothers: they couldn't stop him from meeting with his new friend when he wanted to, and they couldn't stop the pair from corresponding. The Aerialbot traded encoded letters with the Lamborghini, and as of yet Soundwave and his evil minions hadn't caught them, or if they had, they weren't saying anything.

Breakdown had done his best to help Fireflight with his own family problems, and according to the Phantom jet there had been fewer arguments between the Aerialbots. So now Starscream was the Lambo's pet project, even if he didn't realize it.

_I think the meeting's almost up,_ Motormaster told his brothers. _Megs is winding down his thrashing. Wanna meet up for energon in ten?_

_Sure,_ Drag Strip responded for all of them.

Breakdown was obviously thinking hard about something. _Uh, you guys go ahead, there's something I want to do first._

His brothers saw what he planned, and Motormaster shook his helm, not that anyone in the wrapping-up meeting cared. _You be careful. I'd rather not have to be picking up your pieces, not after Hook just congratulated us on our lack of medbay visits._

_You do realize he was being sarcastic?_ Dead End questioned cautiously.

_No, really? Smart-aft, just 'cause you got the processors of this outfit doesn't mean we're all inept. Well, some of us are, but it's not Wildrider's fault, he just can't help it._

_Hey! Totally uncalled for!_

Drag Strip laughed. _Mech, he's got you pegged!_

_Does not._

_Does –_

_No, we are not going through this again,_ Breakdown intervened._ Both of you just shut up now. And if you'll all excuse me, I have something to do._

Breakdown broke away from his brothers-minus-Motormaster, who were on their way to the rec room. Motormaster himself was leaving the meeting room, which just so happened to be where Breakdown was headed.

The Lamborghini tucked himself out of sight until everybody had left the room – well, almost everybody. He entered the room and soon saw his target lying in a crumpled, offlined heap on the floor. With a loud exhale of air from his vents, Breakdown knelt next to the battered chassis and maneuvered it so he could lift it over his shoulder, minding the wings, of course.

He carried the prone body of the Decepticon second in command to the medbay, a little relieved in a perverse way that for once he wasn't the injured party. It was more than a few looks he received from the Constructicons when he carefully laid Starscream on an empty berth, being sure to rest his arms on the berth as well. He knew how weird it felt to wake up with your arms hanging off the side of a berth you didn't even remember laying down on.

Bonecrusher came forward, watching Breakdown carefully. "Hey kid, long time no see. What are you doing bringing Starscream in? Did ya lose a bet?"

Breakdown shook his head. "No, I just have some...business with our fair SIC."

Hook walked out of a side room, wiping his servos on an old rag. "Uh-huh. And is our ever-so-lovely Air Commander aware of this business?"

"Not really, but he might as well hear me out, considering I dragged him down here. You would think seekers would be lighter to stay in the air."

The Constructicons let out a sharp group-exhale, like a collective snort. Hook shook his helm as he started checking over Starscream. "You would think, wouldn't you?"

"Think what?" the groggy, raspy voice of the Decepticons' second in command asked. He onlined his optics and saw the familiar sight of the Constructicons looming around him, and the unfamiliar sight of one of the Stunticons to his side, who he narrowed his glare at. "What the slag are you doing here?"

Breakdown shook his helm lightly. "Bringing you down here by my own volition."

If possible, Starscream's optics further narrowed. "What do you want?"

That just made Breakdown chuckle. "Nothing. Just...here. You need this now more than I do." He dropped a datapad in the seekers servos and promptly left the room, off to join his brothers.

As Hook began assessing the damage in his wings, Starscream onlined the datapad. It had some sort of human book downloaded to it, something called _It's Not Your Fault_. Well, he had a lot of time on his servos considering the look of his chassis. He might as well read it.

* * *

**Okay, just a bonus chapter left now! I know, will it ever end? ;)**


	7. That's Life

**This took longer to write than I would have liked, and it seemed a little bland to me, like an Autobot repeat of the last chapter. But I like how it ended, and I hope you do too.**

**I have to stress this, it seems: I am NOT writing a sequel, but if you would like to write one yourself, PM me and I'll give the go ahead.**

_**Starfire201**_**: Thank you so much! I take that as a high compliment, considering I only have an outsider's knowledge of situations like those used here.**

_**Liz**_**: Yes, I fear our time together has come to a close. ;) But thank you for always reviewing!**

**Disclaimer:**** I do not own Transformers or any of its characters, but I do own the situations used here. The lyrics to "Shed Some Light" belong to Shinedown. The "Epically Bad Movie" mentioned is **_**Troll 2**_**; yes it exists, yes it has nothing to do with trolls, and yes it is atrocious. Look it up, you'll see.**

* * *

**_"It's innocence within the maze  
But I have chosen the wrong way  
I'm still getting over who I was  
There's no sense of trust, there's no definition of love_**

**_So..._**  
**_Shed some light on me_**  
**_And hold me up in disbelief_**  
**_And shed some light on me_**  
**_And tell me something that I'll believe in_**

**_I know now, it's not who you are_**  
**_It's who you know_**  
**_And I see clearly now, which way to go_**  
**_I remember the way I fell from above_**  
**_And I recall the way I was_**

**_So..._**  
**_Shed some light on me_**  
**_And hold me up in disbelief_**  
**_And shed some light on me_**  
**_And tell me something that I'll believe in_**  
**_Shed some light on me_**  
**_And hold me up in disbelief_**  
**_And shed some light on me_**  
**_And tell me something that I'll believe_**  
**_Tell me something that I'll..._**  
**_Tell me something that I'll believe_**  
**_Tell me something that I'll believe_**  
**_Something I'll believe"_**

_~ "Shed Some Light" - Shinedown_

_Pull left, 'Flight!_

_I am!_

_Okay, then pull to your _other_ left!_

_Oh._ Slightly embarrassed, Fireflight did as Silverbolt instructed him and pulled left, giving Slingshot more room to maneuver while remaining in formation.

Once upon a time Sling would have thrown in a snarky quip, but he held his glossa. That was one of a few things that the Aerialbots had agreed began many of their spats: one of them would make a sarcastic comment that would hurt the other, and then their fight formations fell apart. Once they started holding their glossas, they found that their flight patterns held and they didn't fight as often.

They did still fight – they _were_ brothers, after all, and nobody was perfect. But they were learning to understand each other, and that helped.

And none of this would have happened if it weren't for an annoying, paranoid little Decepticon who kept telling Fireflight that he deserved better in all of their meetings. At first the Aerialbots had been livid to find that their brother had stayed in contact with the enemy, as Breakdown had in fact returned to the Decepticons. But Fireflight had stood up to them, furiously saying that they had no right to talk about his friend that way, as he had done nothing but help him. His brothers had claimed that Breakdown was feeding him false information, but after listening to some of the Stunticons suggestions to help Fireflight on his way to empowerment – and Primus did he sound like a nut-job when he said things like that – they found that maybe he wasn't completely wrong in that they did mock their youngest too much and they hurt him more than they realized.

So grudgingly, and in a way that was shockingly similar to that of the Stunticons, they allowed their brother to hang around the 'Con, if only because it made him happy. But Primus knew they weren't telling their commanders about this.

They did, however, tell their superior officers what had occurred that day months ago when Fireflight ran away. Their recordings had been downloaded into Teletraan's databanks and had been replayed many, many times by unbelieving Autobots. While the files were kept blocked from anyone outside of the command staff, others had heard of them and the files were currently the new challenge to the _Ark_'s hackers.

When Optimus had first been shown the video of the fully compiled footage, he had been silent for a long moment before hitting replay and again watching the recording in silence. Upon finishing the recording for a second time, he sent copies of it to Elita and Ultra Magnus and then kept a hard copy of the videos on a data-chip that he kept on him at all times. It seemed odd to most, but a few recognized it as an extremely sentimental gesture by the great Prime.

This was what they had been fighting for all of these vorns. Here were Decepticons, even very young ones, that still had a sense of family, of brotherhood. When things got bad and Optimus began to lose hope he would replay the video to remind himself that there was still hope in the Decepticon ranks. It may have been a bit sappy of him, but he always looked at the Stunticons in a new, more hopeful light. While the Stunticons sent him annoyed looks in battle when he watched them almost fondly, he didn't care. They weren't all bad, and unwittingly they had re-inspired the Prime.

Fireflight once again barely dodged one of his brothers, narrowly avoiding a collision but still applauding himself for catching his drifting in time. He checked his internal chronometer and realized he would be late if he didn't leave now.

_Uh, guys? I gotta go, I'm meeting Breaks in fifteen minutes._

All he received were uncommitted grunts, except for from Silverbolt, who sent an emotional version of an indulgent smile across the bond with the words, _Go ahead_.

With a cheer, Fireflight zoomed off into the distance, intent on making his meeting on time. After all, the Earth's sun had almost set and the drive-in movie they planned on watching from a distance was starting soon. One thing they enjoyed about hanging out together that, being that they were both created on Earth, they understood each other's interest in human culture. Or at least their movies.

Fireflight just made it to their meeting spot on time, spying the Lamborghini pacing in the small clearing where they had first met. "You ready?" asked the Decepticon.

"Sure thing," replied his Autobot companion. "But I pick the movie this time, because you picked such a bad one when you chose."

"How was I supposed to know it had nothing to do with trolls? It was called _Troll 2_!"

"Eh, maybe we should have paid attention to the sign that said 'Epically Bad Movie Night' out front."

"Ya think?" Fireflight only laughed at the sarcastic jibe as he took to the skies once more, keeping up a conversation with his companion on the ground over an encrypted radio channel.

"Hey, 'Flight?"

"Yeah?"

"Would you mind if Wildrider came along next time? He's been bothering me to take him with us, says he wants to know what all the fuss is about."

"Really? That's kind of funny; Air Raid has been saying the same thing."

"So what, next movie night is a 'plus one' affair?"

"Sure thing!"

The Aerialbot came to a landing in the same hilly region, loving all of these pockets of land that allowed the two Cybertronians to hide behind a hill while watching a movie. They knew for a fact that if they sat at a certain angle on the hill, the humans couldn't see them without looking very closely, and in the dark area only illuminated by the movie screens, it was impossible to see the duo.

"What are we watching then, Oh Great Chooser of the Movie?"

"Hmm...Not horror, I'm sick of watching all that gore. And no war flicks either; we get enough of them in real life."

"Too true, kiddo. Too true."

"Thanks, _'Crusher Junior_."

"I'm not sure whether I should be offended or not."

"Yeah, yeah. So, no horror or war movies, and I'm bored with all of those spy dramas."

"Don't tell me you want to see one of those coming-of-age things. Or worse, something about overcoming hardships. Been there, done that, got the weld marks and emotional awkwardness to prove it."

"...I thought that quote ended with something about having the T-shirt."

"Do I _look_ like I wear human clothing? Where in Primus' good name would I even _get_ such an oversized article of cloth?"

"...Internet?"

"Hurm, sadly I think you're right. You still haven't decided."

"I know, I know, stop harassing me. Hey, let's switch it up a bit."

"...How so?"

Fireflight just stared at him with a manic smile on his face.

"Oh, no. Oh fragging _Pit_ no! I am _not_, emphasis on the _not_ watching a romantic comedy!"

The Aerialbot pouted. "You said I could choose."

"Yeah, and up until now I thought I could trust your judgment in films! Apparently I was wrong! I am not a femme; I do not watch romantic movies!"

"Romantic _comedies_. And I'm not a femme, either, if you haven't noticed. C'mon, try something new. You might like it."

"Is that what humans tell each other to start them off on drugs?"

"Well, I don't know about that, but I do know that we need to broaden your horizons."

"Maybe my horizons like being narrow."

"Well that's just too bad for your horizons, now isn't it? C'mon, the movie's starting and you know I like the previews."

The Decepticon groaned like he actually cared, but let the Autobot pull him to the part of the hill that would allow for easy viewing of the romantic comedy, whatever cheesy movie it was that the drive-in theater was playing for the night.

Together they sat, Autobot and Decepticon, good and evil, the protector and the predator, as not enemies, but comrades, companions.

Friends.

Off in the distance, also thankful for the hilly landscape, idled a red and blue semi-truck. It seemed to watch the pair of friends for a moment before letting out an oddly sentient sigh-like exhale of contentment before pulling away from the view and returning home.

There was an end to this war in sight. One only needed to look to the youngest of this tragic drama to see it.

* * *

**Well wasn't that a happy, fluff-filled ending. I could stuff a pillow with all of this fuzz. Hope you like the story, everyone! Thank you to all who favorited, alerted, and most of all, reviewed! It means the world to me, and seriously, I think you've spoiled me with this many reviews for one small story. I'm at 84 reviews as I write this. Whoo, almost fell over in shock there at that number.**

**If you would like to write a sequel to this, then run it by me first – otherwise, be my guest! As I've said, I will not be writing a sequel, so this, uh, honor is up for grabs!**

**Thank you again everyone, it's been a blast.**

**Your ever-faithful sap-and-fluff-collecting author,**

**~ Carlough**


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